


Despite Our Circumstances

by fields_of_falafel



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, F/F, Highgarden, Internalized Homophobia, King's Landing, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Winterfell, by ch26 you'll know what i mean by self-indulgent, cersei stays scheming, first draft, lots and lots of exposition, sit down y'all this is gonna be a long ride, slow beginning but there's action later, very self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2018-10-19 22:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 27
Words: 52,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10648902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fields_of_falafel/pseuds/fields_of_falafel
Summary: Sansa Stark had always expected to marry a fine lord, or knight, or maybe even a prince when she grew up, some handsome man to sweep her off her feet, take her back to his castle and become his. But that dream shatters into a million pieces when her betrothal is announced - and it's to a woman.As Sansa travels to Highgarden to meet her soon-to-be lady wife Margaery Tyrell she has no idea that she's headed towards the ultimate love of her life.These two women embark on a journey that will change their lives, the course of history, and shake the foundations of Westeros itself.





	1. BOOK I: HIGHGARDEN

**Author's Note:**

> Before you begin (hopefully) reading, I'd like to mention just a few things.
> 
> First of all, if you took the time to click on this and read my fic here, thank you so much. It means the absolute world to me.
> 
> Second, there's one or two things I'd like to mention about this 'verse. In this, women have the right to inherit as equally as men. Inheritance is judged by order of birth, not male-centered.
> 
> Third, the first part of this fic is largely setting up the characters and the setting, with the majority of that being fluff. If you came to me for action, you'll have to wait just a few thousand words :D Also, this is a first draft with minor editing, it's not going to be perfect. I'm sure I'll do a rewrite at some point but for now just bear with me. :)
> 
> I'd also like to mention that in this fic there will be underage sexual content, non-consensual sex, graphic depictions of violence and character deaths. If this is troubling to you and may affect you more than you care to admit, you have been cautioned. The majority of these will not be tagged until I publish the chapters they occur in.
> 
> This fic has been a long labor of love and I'd just like to thank you again for taking the time to click on it. I hope you enjoy!

**BOOK I: HIGHGARDEN**

 

_Life is not a song, sweetling._

_Someday you may learn that, to your sorrow._


	2. Prologue

The wine was hot in her hand as she gazed out over the bay. It was peaceful today, she thought idly, the still peace that only came after a terrible storm. And a storm had indeed come. It had battered the castle the entire night, pounding rain against the windowpanes and lightning that lit up the dark for only the briefest of moments.

She knew that storm was nothing.

In the literal sense, of course, it’d been one of the worst storms of the year, but she’d seen worse and had a fear she’d experience even worse before it was all over. However, after all of those storms the water had stilled and the skies cleared. She feared that would not happen with the storm brewing on the horizon, her horizon.

She heard the door to her chambers open, stirring her out of her thoughts. She would be annoyed, but she knew only one person had the gall to step into her chambers without asking for entry first.

“Brooding again, dear sister?” Her brother sat down behind her, in a chair towards the center of the room

“There is much to brood about, dear brother.” She replied, not bothering to look back at him. Somehow the water only lapping at the cliff shores made her grow more nervous with every passing moment.

Her brother sighed behind her. “Yes, I suppose there is.”

She knew her brother well, and knew that he had little interest in talking politics. He was a knight, and knights talked of battles hard-won and the curve of a woman’s backside. She, on the other hand, had known nothing but politics.

“A storm is brewing on the horizon.” She said grimly and without warning. “And I’m afraid our family will not survive this time.”

She was sure her brother would have laughed if not for her tone of voice. Instead, he said, “You’re simply being paranoid.” Before she could bite back a reply he continued, “Peace exists throughout Westeros, and we have all of the power. No one would dare touch us.”

She knew this was how he’d reply. She couldn’t blame him either, for she understood his way of thinking. He’d fought his war and in his mind that was it for him. He hadn’t understood that as soon as his war had ended, hers had begun. And now, piece by piece, she was losing control of the game. Jon Arryn, who she’d always kept at a long distance, was now figuring out their secret and once he was dead Ned Stark would be named Hand, which meant that honorable bastard would gain power here in the capital, if he survived long enough. He could pose a threat if he made friends with the right people, she knew. Not to mention the Tyrells who were still sore over the usurp of the Targaryen reign and wanted to regain the power they’d lost more than anything.

“I am being rational. Unlike you, it would seem.” She said, sipping her wine.

She heard him sigh loudly behind her.

“Can’t you understand, fool? Everyone is plotting for my downfall, our downfall. If we do not deceive our enemies, they will deceive us.”

“The realm is at peace and prospering! No one would dare touch us.”

“The realm is prospering in the eyes of people who don’t know any better.” She snapped back.

“What caused you to be put in such a foul mood?” He asked, changing tactics.

She sighed. “I’ve heard word from Varys that the Tyrells are plotting in the south.”

He waved his hand. “The Tyrells are always plotting, what is really troubling you?”

“They are plotting to wed their daughter Margaery to Joffrey and to take the throne.”

Her brother pondered this for a moment. “What does it matter if they marry? We’re infinitely more powerful than they are besides, and we could use the resources.”

“The Tyrells would snatch the throne out from under our feet without us ever noticing.” She spat at him, taking another sip of her wine. This was but one small problem out of many, but she knew from experience it could grow into a major problem soon.

Her brother shrugged, obviously through with her. “If you don’t want the marriage to happen, stop it.”

Her words of sharp rebuke were on her lips, ready to be used spitefully, until an idea burst into her mind.

She smiled eerily. “Would you like to know, dear brother, how I am going to proverbially kill two birds with one stone?”

Her brother looked wary, but nodded anyhow.

Yes, war would come, she knew, but mayhaps she could turn two enemies into something useful.


	3. SANSA I

Sansa had always enjoyed a hot bath when she needed to think things through. The warm water had always aided in soothing her tense shoulders and the scent of the flowers the servant girls put in for her helped to clear her head when it was clouded. There was something to say for the therapeutic feel of the water against her smooth skin, whether the feeling was just in her imagination or the water truly did something for her. She supposed it just helped to aid her ailing mind, especially now of all times.

Sansa hadn’t faced many perils in her short life. She’d always had a roof over her head, food on her table and a serving girl to tend to her every need. Any problems she’d ever encountered had been swiftly taken care of by her mother or Septa Mordane, but now her mother and Septa Mordane were the cause of the problem.

She still couldn’t believe it. Since she was a young girl, she’d always wanted and expected to marry a rich handsome lord, or perhaps a knight, watch over his household and bear his sons. That’s all she’d ever known and all she’d ever been raised to know. This upset every single one of those plans. This upset everything she’d ever known, and everything she’d ever dreamed. As far as she was concerned, her life was over only because her parents wanted the protection of an alliance.

Her parents were forcing her to wed a woman, some Lady Margaery of House Tyrell, and she hated them for it.

Ever since they’d told her, just a few hours before, she’d been mourning her lost future. Of all the matches that could’ve been made, her marriage was to be to a woman. A woman! And worse yet, a woman that she didn’t even know, much less love. What was to happen to her now? She’d have no holdfast, no lord to be a dutiful wife to, no sons that would grow up to be noble knights, possibly even kings. She’d only have a southern lady wife who would provide her with nothing. She felt sick.

Oh, the morning had started off so nice, and now she was here, pruning in her tub. She’d honestly thought when she’d woken up that today would be a pleasant day. She’d woken up feeling refreshed and renewed and her serving girl had done her hair in a new style. It was the way that the southern ladies fashioned their hair nowadays and she’d felt like a queen. Her breakfast had been hot, her embroidery was coming along famously and Arya hadn’t bothered her once. It had indeed been a good day, until her parents had summoned her.

She’d figured that they wanted to talk about her becoming a lady, after all her bleeding had begun just two months before and that meant it was time for her to find a husband.

“Sansa, your father and I have something to tell you.” Her mother had told her, leading her to sit down.

She’d been confused, but sat across from them. “Is it bad news?”

“No, my dear,” Her mother had said, but she’d sounded skeptical. “There’s been a match arranged for you.”

Sansa brightened. “I knew this would come! Tell me, who is it? Who’s my betrothed? Is he a knight? Or a lord?”

“Sansa, please.” Her father said authoritatively. She closed her mouth.

“You’re to be wed to Lady Margaery of House Tyrell.”

The room was silent.

Her marriage was to be to a woman? Was this a joke? Surely it was. It had to be. She looked up at her parents. It was no joke. She was betrothed to a woman. Not a knight, or a lord, or even a prince. A woman.

“You aren’t serious?” She pleaded, still clinging to the hope that her parents would burst into laughter any second and tell her who she was going to be wed to.

“I’m afraid that this is real.” Catelyn said empathetically, taking her daughters’ hands in her own.

“The Tyrells are a good family, they’ll treat you well.”

“You mean to say that I’m . . . I’m leaving Winterfell?” She’d always wished to go south but not for something like this.

“You’ll be wed to her at Highgarden and you’ll reside there with her and her family.” Sansa could tell that her father was doing his best to be neutral.

“Highgarden? That far?”

“Yes, my dear.”

“But why can’t I marry a man? Why am I being married to  _ her _ ?” She suddenly felt like she wanted to scream. This wasn’t happening to her, this wasn’t real, was it?

“You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“Surely you can change this, Father, you’re Lord Stark, you can change this.”

“It’s out of my hands, Sansa.” He said and she quieted. “It has already been arranged. Jory and several other guards will see you safely to Highgarden in three days’ time.”

“Three days?”

“The journey should take you a little more than a month. It won’t seem so scary then.” Catelyn tried to comfort her daughter, but it wasn’t working. Sansa felt like she was in the middle of a whirlwind since she was being dragged in every direction and stumbling around for some sense of security. Everything she’d known was stripped from her. She was on the verge of tears.

“May I be excused, please?”

It looked like her father was going to say no but her mother put a hand on his knee and gave him a look. “You may.” She said. Sansa fled.

She sprinted to her room where she barred the door and collapsed onto her bed, where the sobs began wracking through her. Everything had been ruined, her  _ entire life _ had been ruined. She’d be nothing now. In every court she would ever walk into she’d be ridiculed and humiliated. She’d never have her own house to manage, she’d never have her knight in shining armor and she’d never have strong sons. She’d never have anything.

“Sansa, my dear?” Her septa’s voice carried through the door.

“Go away.”

“Sansa, please let me in.” She heaved a final sob and begrudgingly opened the door. She fell into her septa’s arms, only because she didn’t know what else to do. Septa Mordane shushed her and led her back to her bed, where she let Sansa cry on her shoulder. She whispered sweet condolences into her ear, but it didn’t make Sansa feel much better.

“What am I going to do now, Septa?” Sansa choked out between sobs.

Septa Mordane pressed her head against her shoulder. “You’ll do your duty as a proper lady wife.”

“I don’t  _ want _ to be her wife.”

“There’s nothing we can do about it. But you are a Stark of Winterfell, my lady, and Starks endure. You will endure this because it is your duty.”

“But I don’t  _ want to _ .” She knew she sounded like a child but she couldn’t find it in her to care. It was her life that was in ruins, she could be miserable and petulant if she wanted to.

“My child, I know that you don’t want to marry a woman. These types of marriages are humiliating and bring nothing but disgrace onto a family’s name, but for the two involved the marriage is quite rewarding. You won’t have the same worries that most lady wives have and you can devote your time to whatever you wish. And the Tyrells are a kind family, they wouldn’t dare mistreat you.”

Sansa was quiet while she pondered what she said. “That doesn’t make anything better.”

“It will be better one day, my sweet.”

She tore herself away from her septa and stood, crossing her arms across her chest. Her eyes hardened as she gazed at her septa. With all the venom in her voice that she could muster she spat, “It will  _ never _ be better.”

That was the last thing she said to her septa before casting her out. She didn’t even think on it for a moment before commanding her servant girl to prepare a hot bath for her.

And now she was here, sitting in her metal tub with her rose-scented bath salts, that she were anyone else. Let her be some poor tavern maid, for at least then she may be able to fall in love with a handsome stranger that walked in. Or perhaps she could be a stewardess in the household of a beautiful lord who would take her in and be kind to her. Maybe she would be a beautiful maid across the Narrow Sea, who would have suitors lining up at her door just for a single glance at her. Why couldn’t she be any of those people? Why was she destined to live this fruitless life?

She wondered if her betrothed was thinking the same about herself.

Was Lady Margaery, the beauty and pride of House Tyrell, in the same position Sansa was in? Had she hoped for a good lord husband and many children like herself? Had she wished for her sons to become great knights and princes and kings like she had? Or could she possibly prefer women, like she heard some women did?

Her mind strayed wildly with questions about her betrothed. Would she be kind? Would she treat her well? Would she expect the same of her as a husband does from his wife? Would she have to, oh gods,  _ consummate _ her marriage with the woman?

She exhausted herself thinking of the possibilities.

It was past suppertime when she dragged herself out of her tub. A serving girl met her, placing her robe on her shoulders. Sansa thanked her quietly and asked her to leave. She did not want company tonight, no matter how much she adored her serving girls.

Her bed had been made for her. She unfolded it carefully, well aware of the fact that this would be one of the last nights that she would ever spend in her own bed. As she lay in her bed, Lady faithfully by her side, she became even more aware that everything that was in her room tonight, so meticulously placed and used and dusted, would not be seen by her for a long time. Her room, her home, her dear, sweet Winterfell would all be whisked away from her in a few days’ time.

Sansa clung to her wolf and cried, wondering what she had done to deserve this horrid fate.


	4. SANSA II

How fitting it was that the gods had decided to make it rain on the day she left Winterfell, Sansa thought bitterly. It fell in thick sheets that turned the ground to thick mud while slapping violently against her windowpane. She had hoped that the rain would delay her departure for a day, possibly two, but she was not that lucky.

Jeyne, her best friend, helped her finish packing that morning. They didn’t say anything to each other, besides Jeyne asking if she wanted to take this or that. She could tell her best friend had a great many things on the tip of her tongue but didn’t have the courage to say any of them. Sansa didn’t blame her. She didn’t have the courage to admit it to herself.

Her servants helped to take her things down to load it on the carriage that she’d ride in to Highgarden, a journey which would take nearly two months. Two months of hard travel only to arrive in a strange place with strange people. Every minute her heart ached more and more for her dear Winterfell and for everything within. If she could only take Winterfell with her instead of just a few items she was sure she’d be better. But, that was not going to happen. After what had seemed like just a few moments her room was bare except for her furniture.

“Sansa,” Jeyne caught her attention, “It’s time.”

She took one last look at her empty room, holding onto Lady’s fur to steady herself. She took a moment to get a hold of herself before following Jeyne down the stairs, the last time she’d ever walk these stairs.

Her family was waiting in the entrance hall for her with solemn expressions. If she hadn’t already felt horrible, she would have felt worse taking one look at them. At least Rickon didn’t seem too perturbed, but then again he was only five. He didn’t understand what was happening, which might have made him Sansa’s favorite sibling in that moment.

Her mother embraced her first, squeezing her arms around her in an unladylike fashion. Sansa didn’t care and all she wanted was to stay right here, in her mother’s arms until she was too old to marry.

“Don’t worry too much, my sweet girl.” Her mother told her softly. “You are a Stark, and you will always find a way.”

Sansa swallowed to hold back the tears. This might be the last time she would ever see her mother, and she refused to cry. Her mother let go of her a moment later and she moved to her father.

Sansa knew that he was not happy with this marriage, though she assumed that he was the one who planned it. He was not as outwardly affectionate as her mother. Despite that, however, he still embraced her for one long moment.

“The Tyrells are a good family,” he told her, “you will be treated well. Don’t be afraid of them.” With that he kissed her forehead and she found herself in front of Robb.

He gave her a lopsided grin and brought her in for a hug. “You’ll enjoy yourself down south, little sister. After all you’ve always wanted to go south and meet all those highborn ladies you’re always talking about.” He put his hand on her shoulder and nodded. “And don’t forget, we’ll always be here.”

He managed to bring a little smile to her face before he passed her on to Arya. She didn’t embrace her, as Sansa knew she wouldn’t, but instead gave her a little half-smile.

“You’ll be fine,” She said nonchalantly. “You’ll get to try on all the fancy southern dresses you talk about all the time.”

_Maybe you can come visit me and try those dresses for yourself,_ Sansa thought but didn’t say aloud. Arya would not appreciate it and that wasn’t the last thing she wanted to say to her sister.

“I suppose I will. Try not to be too hard on Septa Mordane,” Sansa added, “She does her best with you.”

Arya bit on her cheek and looked down, but didn’t reply.

Bran was next, and he hugged her tightly. She hugged him back, realizing just how much she’d miss her younger brother.

“I’ll miss you.” He told her.

“I’ll miss you too.”

Rickon tackled her quite suddenly, wrapping his little arms around her waist.

“Please don’t go.” He mumbled against her side.

She sent a look towards her mother who was about to grab him warning her off. Sansa pulled his arms away from her and knelt down to his size.

“I have to.” She said, trying not to sound sad. Rickon’s sudden outburst had shocked her back into her role as older sister and now she had to be strong for both of them.

“Why?” Sansa felt helpless all of a sudden. How was she supposed to explain this to her five-year-old brother, of all people?

She swallowed again and said, “I’m going south to marry. A woman.”

“Ooh, you’re going down south? Can I come with you?”

Sansa let out a little laugh. “No, I’m afraid not.”

Rickon pouted just a little and Sansa was just thankful that he didn’t ask about her marriage. She hugged him once more and kissed his forehead before standing back up.

“I suppose this is goodbye.” Sansa said, taking one last look over her family. Everyone except Jon was there, but she didn’t mind. Her and Jon had never been close and at this point in their lives she wouldn’t have expected him to come.

The rest of the family said their last goodbyes and all of a sudden Sansa was out in the rain, looking at her escort and the carriage waiting for her. The three guardsmen she was being escorted by were waiting on their horses, despite the rain. The leader of them, Jory Cassel, lead over her horse with a kind smile which she tried to reciprocate.

She settled herself in the carriage, quickly glancing to make sure Lady was next to her, before motioning to the guards that she was ready to leave. She took one last look at her home as she passed through the gate, already feeling the lonely pang of homesickness. Her self-pitying was interrupted, however, by Jon in the distance.

“Sansa!” He shouted, his horse galloping towards her. “Sansa.” He repeated when he approached. “Forgive me, I was told you weren’t leaving until tomorrow.”

Sansa poked her head out of the carriage, not sure how she felt about her half-brother in that moment. “Thank you,” She said at last, “for wishing me off.”

“Even if I am a tad late.” He smiled.

Sansa, surprising herself, managed a smile. “Even if you are a tad late.”

He leaned in a little closer to say quietly, “You’ll be fantastic down south, just you wait. And don’t worry about the marriage, it’ll work itself out. Just enjoy yourself as best you can, you hear me?”

Sansa was taken aback, since Jon had never spoken to her like this. “Thank you, Jon.”

“You’ll have the experience of a lifetime, my lady.” He smiled again and strode his horse through the gate of Winterfell behind her. A million thoughts rushed through her head at that moment, each one of them new and confusing. 

“Are you ready, my lady?” Jory asked. Sansa gazed at him, snapping herself out of her thoughts.

“Yes.” Sansa nodded and he whistled for everyone to continue. It was a thousand leagues from Winterfell to Highgarden, she knew, and the time for stalling was over. So, she straightened up, rested her hand on Lady, and looked ahead.


	5. SANSA III

The next month was hard on Sansa. Most nights they slept out in the open, or in a lumpy tavern bed, and so the sleepless nights made it easy for Sansa to worry about her future. Every night she lie awake thinking about her betrothed and the future that awaited her less than a thousand leagues away. It seemed such a long distance and she was hoping it would pass by just as slowly.

She had heard tales of Highgarden’s beauty and knew from her studies that the castle was known as the most beautiful castle in Westeros. She wondered if the castle would make it better. She wondered if there were enough nooks and crannies where she could hide from her after they were wed.

_ Maybe she’ll be good to me _ a voice from the back of Sansa’s head said. Maybe she would, but they’d never be truly married. A true marriage needed consummation and women couldn’t truly consummate. She grimaced at the thought. Would she be expected to consummate? Would she be expected to lay with her lady wife night after night? She shuddered.

She must have dug her heels into her new horse because she propelled forward, much to the shock of the guards surrounding her.

“Are you well, my lady?” Jory Cassel asked.

“Yes, Captain, thank you. My horse must have spooked.” She covered, drawing her cloak around her shoulders. A cool breeze blew in from the north and she was reminded of the family’s words.  _ Winter Is Coming _ .

It was rather ironic, she noted. Winter was soon to hold Westeros in its grasp and the winter of her life was soon to begin.

Perhaps she should have a more optimistic approach, she wondered. Instantly the rational part of her mind fought against that notion, telling herself that she was getting married for nothing. Her future would be nothing. All her dreams would be nothing.

She sighed heavily.

“That is quite a heavy sigh for such a young woman, my lady.” Jory noted, falling back to ride next to her.

“I have much to sigh about.” She looked down at her hands.

“Why would you say that?” He asked, genuine confusion in his voice.

“Don’t you see where we are headed, Captain?” Sansa asked, wondering how he could not think the same as her.

“We’re headed to Highgarden, my lady, the most beautiful castle in the whole of Westeros. They say the sun shines bright every day and the flowers are the most beautiful any person has ever laid eyes on. They call it paradise, my lady.”

“I’m afraid you and I are not thinking of the same place.” Sansa frowned. She’d heard a hundred tales about Highgarden and its beauty, but would that truly make up for everything?

“Lady Sansa, if you’ll forgive me for being bold,” Jory raised an eyebrow.

“Of course, Captain.” She replied automatically.

“My lady, you act as if you are headed to your demise.” He spoke plainly.

Sansa was silent for a moment. She supposed it could be worse, but she was stubborn.

“You must understand why I think so.” She countered.

Jory pondered this for a moment. “I do, in some ways. I understand you feel you’ve been disgraced, but I don’t believe you have been. You aren’t being wed to a woman of a lesser House, you are being wed to the daughter of Lord Mace Tyrell, one of the richest men in Westeros. Anything you could ever wish for will be at your fingertips.”

“Except a husband.” Sansa muttered in a rather unladylike fashion.

“My lady, you can have your pick of any man in the Seven Kingdoms if you wish it.”

Sansa sighed silently. “I do not want many men, I only want one.”

Jory was silent again as he pondered this. “Perhaps your marriage will not be as strict as you fear it is. Perhaps you will grow to care for Lady Margaery. If you do not, I’m sure the marriage could be annulled.”

“Annulled? Really?” Sansa’s eyes widened. Of course, if they couldn’t consummate then the marriage could be annulled.

“I wouldn’t focus all of your energies on trying to annul your marriage, my lady. This match was quite obviously arranged to meet your two houses and it is very important that both you and your betrothed keep that pact.”

“Oh.” Sansa breathed. She hadn’t thought of the alliance between their houses and its benefits. She had only thought of herself, like a stupid little girl.

Her mind turned back to her betrothed and she looked toward Jory. “Do you think my betrothed will be good to me?”

Jory answered nearly immediately. “Tales of Lady Margaery’s beauty and kindness are told everywhere in the Seven Kingdoms, my lady. It is said that she regularly feeds the poor and takes in orphans.”

“Truly?” Sansa hadn’t heard these tales. Up until now she’d envisioned her betrothed as a hideous witch who would mistreat her. She hadn’t realized how ridiculous that was.

“I have also heard that she has the same affinity for women as her brother has for men.” Jory told her. Sansa was confused for a moment, for many rumors from the south didn’t make their way to her ears. Until she remembered that Ser Loras Tyrell, her betrothed’s brother, was rumored to prefer men.

“Do you believe she’ll try to pursue . . . ?” She couldn’t finish her sentence.

Jory waved his hand. “Not at all, my lady. I believe that she will pursue a friendship with you but I wouldn’t believe that she would do anything to cause you to dislike her.”

“You believe she’s a good woman?”

“Any woman who does as much for other people as Lady Margaery is no doubt, in my mind, a good woman.”

Sansa let the corners of her mouth turn up. “Thank you, Captain Jory.”

“Anything for my lady.” He dipped his head and took his place in front of her as they continued down the kingsroad.

~~~

Nearly a month had passed since they left Winterfell when King’s Landing finally came into view. Sansa heard the men around her hoot with joy, proclaiming their happiness at having a warm bed to sleep in for the next few nights. Sansa shared in their excitement, but only to a point. She had a pit in her stomach, a pit of doubt and anxiety. She felt that King’s Landing would not be a good place, as though in another life horrible things had happened to her here.

“My lady?” Jory fell back to ride alongside her after he noticed her discomfort. He always seemed to know when she was upset, something she’d never figure out.

“Don’t worry about me, Captain.”

“You seem uncomfortable, my lady.”

“I am simply worried about being received.” Sansa voiced, but she felt that wasn’t the reason. In truth, she didn’t know what made her so anxious.

Jory smiled at her. “Worry not, my lady. King Robert regards you as a niece of sorts and will make sure you feel nothing but happiness during our stay.”

“I have never met a king.” Sansa told him. “What if I do something wrong?”

“How could you do something wrong?” He asked genuinely. “As long as your manners are better than mine, which I assure you they are, everything will go splendidly.”

Sansa let out a little laugh. “I suppose I’m unnecessarily worried.”

“If it would bring you comfort I will remain by your side.”

“That would bring me comfort, Captain, I thank you.” Sansa accepted.

From here she received a clear view of the city, of its towering walls and, in the distance, the outline of the Red Keep.

“We’ll be coming in through the Dragon Gate, my lady.” Jory told her. “You’ll be able to see the ruins of the Dragonpit.”

“The Dragonpit? Really?” Sansa asked. Like every Westerosi child she had grown up on the fearsome tales of Aegon the Conqueror and his gigantic dragon Balerion. She’d never seen anything made for dragons, though, and wondered how big it would be.

“Yes, my lady. They say the entrance was once so large that thirty knights could ride abreast through it.”

“I’d like to see a dragon one day.” She said like a child.

“If only the last dragons hadn’t died out over a century ago, perhaps your wish would come true.”

Sansa shook her head. “A shame, truly.”

They were very close to the Dragon Gate now and were caught up in the traffic of the everyday commuters. Outside of the walls she could see shanty settlements, huddled close to the wall, looking more like strewn boxes than homes. She could see people moving between them like ants, busy going about their day.

“Captain Jory, what is that  _ awful _ stench?” It had hit her quite suddenly, the odors of the city. She covered her nose, hoping to evade it.

He laughed a little. “That, my lady, is the smell of King’s Landing.”

“How could anyone  _ bear _ to live in a city that smells so  _ awful _ ?” She asked, causing the other guards to laugh as well.

“If I had the answer to that, my lady, I would tell you. For myself, I do not understand why anyone would want to live anywhere but the north but that is another matter entirely.”

Sansa shook her head, trying to get used to the stench.

By this point they were at the gate and a member of the City Watch asked about them.

“What is your business in King’s Landing?” The gold cloak asked.

“I am Jory Cassel, captain of the guards at Winterfell and I wish to escort the Lady Sansa Stark to the Red Keep.” He said simply.

“Lady Sansa Stark, eh? She’s the, uh-” The gold cloak paused in the middle of his sentence when he caught sight of Sansa, but she knew what he was going to say.  _ She’s the one disgracing her family and marrying a woman. _

“Yes.” Jory said icily, obviously noting Sansa’s discomfort. “And we wish to pass to the Red Keep.”

“Very well, m’lord, m’lady.” He bowed his head to them as they passed through the gate.

“Do not worry so much of the opinions of others,” Jory told her. “Their opinion is of little worth to begin with.”

Sansa ran a hand across her eye. “Yes,” was all she replied.

They passed through King’s Landing, marveling at all of the sights neither her nor most of the guards had seen before. The Dragonpit, though a ruin, was larger than she would have ever expected and she wondered how many dragons would have been kept in there. Luckily, they avoided Flea Bottom, which was where Sansa figured the horrid smell was coming from, thankfully.

When the Red Keep came into full view Sansa audibly gasped. The Keep was larger and more beautiful than she ever would have thought, with its high stone towers and immense walls.

“Maegor the Cruel killed every builder who worked on the Red Keep, y’know,” said Desmond, one of her fellow guardsmen.

“So that only he would know all of the secret passages.” Sansa finished. Ever since she was a little girl she’d searched for every story about King’s Landing and was familiar with nearly all of them. The city was fascinating to her and even now, amidst the stench, she found she was in love.

Once they arrived at the Red Keep they once again had to state their name and business but were immediately let in. As soon as they had stepped foot in the city one of her guardsmen were sent ahead to announce her arrival and she saw him waiting through the gate.

“Lady Sansa,” one of the goldcloaks greeted her, “It is a pleasure to meet a beauty such as yourself.”

Sansa had to hide her giggle. A man had never been so forward with her in all her life. “Thank you.” She said, following Jory and her two other guardsmen through the gate.

A man took their horses and led the cart with her possessions toward another part of the castle, assuming to be unloaded and brought to her chambers. They proceeded to wait only a few moments before a steward came out and escorted them to their rooms.

“You will be received and sup privately with the king and his family tonight, Lady Sansa.” The steward told them. “I will come to escort you.”

_Dinner with the king!_ Sansa’s stomach dropped. She had expected this, but she never thought it would truly happen. If only her mother were here, she would help.

“Until I come to escort you, you have free reign of the castle.” The steward finished, showing a set of rooms to Sansa and handing her a key.

“These will be your rooms for the next few days, my lady. Simply ring the bell if you need anything. A handmaiden will be sent up to dress you for supper.”

“Thank you.” She told him. She said a goodbye to Jory and the rest of her guardsmen, who were being put in rooms below her. Sansa had wondered if any of them would demand to be closer to her rooms, since all of them were very protective over her, but it would be inappropriate to have that many men so close to her own rooms.

Since she had time to waste until supper she wandered her rooms. It was simple, yet everything she’d expect of a lady’s room in the Red Keep. A four-poster bed was situated in one of the corners and a large fireplace sat on the opposite side of the room with fresh firewood sitting next to it. Large windows accompanied a balcony which looked over the Blackwater. In the middle were a table and chairs, suitable for a small meeting if she had need of one, or to simply eat her breakfast. Another door next to her bed led to a dressing room and wardrobe, which would hold her things for the next few days. And the most curious of all was the Stark banner hanging on the wall. She smiled, thinking of her home and her family before feeling a tad melancholy once more. She didn’t know who had put it there, but she did appreciate it. 

Decided that she had had enough of her rooms she decided to start exploring the castle herself. She thought for a moment about getting Jory or another one of her guards but decided against it. She was in one of the most secure castles in the Seven Kingdoms, nothing would happen to her here.

She wandered the halls shamelessly, looking for any of the secret passages she’d heard so famously about. She did get lost a few times, but that was to be expected. Sansa took in the sights of the Red Keep, the tapestries on the walls and the faint remnants of the Targaryens in the hallways. She had no idea where she was about an hour into her journey and was growing quite frantic as she searched around.

“Hello?” She called out. This hall was empty, unlike the others.

“Is someone there?” A young voice called out, quite obviously a girl’s.

“Yes? I’m afraid I’ve gotten lost.” She said, a little shamefully.

A yellow-haired girl popped out from behind a corner with a bright smile. “Pardon me for not showing myself. I’m playing hide-and-seek with my brother and cousin and I had to make sure you weren’t one of them – oh, I don’t recognize you.”

But Sansa recognized her.

“Beg pardon, Your Grace, I should have curtsied sooner.” She did curtsy then, if a little hastily.

Princess Myrcella waved her hand. “Do not trouble yourself. You must be the Lady Stark, then?”

“I am, Your Grace. But Lady Stark is my mother.”

“Oh, yes, of course. There’s no need for formalities anyhow, Sansa. They do get rather stuffy after a while, don’t you think? Please, call me Myrcella.”

“Yes, Y- Myrcella.”

The princess smiled. “Now I heard something about you being lost?”

Sansa smiled sheepishly. “I’m afraid so. I’ve never been to King’s Landing and I admit, I don’t know my way around.”

Myrcella smiled. “Luckily then you have a princess to escort you.” She extended her arm and Sansa took it.

“How has your day been, Sansa? I scarcely get to leave the Keep so you must tell me everything.”

Sansa giggled a little at the princess’s insistence. “I woke just outside of Hayford Castle,” she began.

“No, Sansa, tell me of the city. What did you see?” The princess interrupted, gazing at Sansa with her large green eyes.

“When we first entered I saw the Dragonpit,” she began again.

“Oh! I’ve always wanted to visit the Dragonpit! But Father says that a Targaryen remnant such as that is no place for a Baratheon princess.”

“Does he realize he lives in a castle built by Targaryens?” Sansa asked and at once feared herself too bold.

However, Myrcella just laughed. “He doesn’t seem to notice that fact, no.”

By this point Myrcella had led her back to a hallway with more servants hustling about and she was inwardly relieved. Being lost on her first day at King’s Landing was certainly not in her plans and if anyone but the princess had found her she would have been much more embarrassed.

“A-ha! You lose!” Two small voices cried out rather suddenly, jumping out from behind a corner. After Sansa recovered from her shock she realized that the two voices laughing at her were Prince Tommen and their cousin, Rosamund Lannister.

“Yes, yes, I lose, I’m aware. But look who I found, the Lady Sansa of House Stark, wandering our own corridors.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Sansa.” The prince smiled.

“A pleasure indeed,” said Rosamund, followed by a curtsy.

“If the Lady Sansa agrees I believe we should show her the castle.” Myrcella told the two, looking towards Sansa for permission.

Sansa, a little flabbergasted, nodded and Myrcella smiled again. “Excellent.” Rosamund took Sansa’s other arm and Tommen followed behind as the three showed Sansa the way around the Red Keep. Myrcella showed her a few of the secret passages (one of which led all the way down to the harbor, Myrcella told her) while Rosamund showed her about the gardens and Tommen chased after the stray cats lurking about.

“We have to be careful here,” Myrcella cautioned as they reached another wing of the keep, “my brother might be lurking about.”

“Joffrey?”

“Yes.”

“What’s wrong with Prince Joffrey? I’ve always heard he was a gallant prince.” Not many tales of Prince Joffrey made it to Winterfell, but she’d heard enough to know he was a good kind-hearted prince.

“You’ve heard wrong, my dear Sansa.” Myrcella shook her head.

“Tell me, is he terrible? Is he a horrid boy? Is he mad?” Sansa did not get the chance to say anything else for Prince Joffrey turned the corner with a sly grin.

“My dear sister!” He called out before Myrcella could take them away. Rosamund and Tommen had run off again at this point so it was only the two of them against him.

Myrcella turned back around and smiled at her brother. Sansa did the same, though she was a little on edge from the princess’s words. As the prince approached her stomach dropped, feeling the same pit of dread she’d felt at the gates.

“Who is your lady friend, dear sister?” Prince Joffrey approached and didn’t bother to look at his sister while speaking to her. Instead his gaze went up and down on Sansa and she suddenly wished she’d worn a gown that covered her more.

“I am Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell.” She said properly, curtsying for the prince.

He hummed his approval. “Yes, I heard you were dining with us tonight. I much look forward to seeing you there.”

He took her hand and pressed his lips to it. Sansa felt as though she’d been violated. As soon as he took his lips away she snatched her hand away and put it by her side.

“Tonight then, my lady.” He said, and then he was gone.

Both girls breathed a sigh of relief. Joffrey had brought a cold air when he walked up to them, causing her to distrust him on sight. Of course, the princess had played a hand in that. As they continued their stroll Sansa couldn’t help but wonder if she’d be drawn to him if Myrcella hadn’t warned her.

“I love my older brother, truly I do, but he’s a bully and a scoundrel.” Myrcella said as soon as they were out of earshot.

“I can only imagine what it’s like to live with him.” Sansa told her, looking back at where he had disappeared behind a corner.

“I hope you never have to know.” The princess said, shaking her head. “At least you’re going to live in a beautiful place. I wish I could live in Highgarden.” Myrcella sighed.

“I pray that it’s as beautiful and fascinating a place as everyone says it is.” A faint sigh escaped her lips, something that did not go unnoticed by the princess.

Myrcella looked at her quizzically. “Do you not want to live in Highgarden? I do know the circumstances of your marriage and I know that must be difficult for you, but Highgarden is one of the most beautiful places in Westeros. Any lady would be lucky to live there.”

“I suppose I am being unfair,” Sansa admitted, “I just find myself in a situation I did not expect to be in.”

Myrcella looked at her with understanding. “Mother says that as ladies we must deal with many burdens. But I don’t see your marriage as a burden, I see it as an opportunity.”

Sansa remembered her mother saying something similar to her once, when she’d begun asking about marriage. If she imagined hard enough she could still feel her lady mother’s arms wrapped around her. For a moment she wished she was back with her until she heard the word ‘opportunity’ come out of the princess’s mouth.

“Your Grace-”

“Sansa, just think of it! You’ll be in one of the most beautiful castles, surrounded by noble lords and ladies and you’ll see tourneys and sword fights and gallant knights, you’ll have the most beautiful dresses. Any lady, including myself, would love to live there.”

Sansa was quiet for a few moments while she thought about this. She found that she’d been extremely narrow-minded, to the point of downright foolishness. Highgarden wouldn’t be so bad, she knew, especially if the princess wanted to stay there. “Perhaps you could come and visit sometime,” Sansa told her.

“Seeing as we’ve become great friends in the past few hours, Sansa, I would very much appreciate it.” Myrcella smiled. “Anything to get out of this keep, after all.”

Sansa gazed around. “I rather like the Red Keep,” she told her politely.

“You don’t live in the Red Keep.” Myrcella pointed out, to which Sansa gave a shrug. “Dinner will be getting on soon, you should head back to your rooms.” The princess continued.

Sansa bit her lip. “I’m not completely sure where my rooms  _ are _ , princess.”

Myrcella laughed, high and light. “Don’t fret, I’ll show you! Should I escort you to dinner as well?” The two girls giggled as they started down a different hallway, one that Sansa remembered.

Sansa smiled. “I already have that covered, thank you.”

“Very well then, I’ll see you tonight.” Myrcella dropped Sansa off right at her door.

“Thank you, princess, for the honor of sharing your time with me.” Sansa thanked politely and curtsied.

Myrcella waved her hand. “The honor was mine.”

~~~

Dinner was, to say the least, a rather different affair. She’d never once had a dinner without her family or her guardsmen and was very surprised to find that not all family dinners were like hers. At home she would find her brothers sharing remarks about what they did with Father that day, and her sister begging to be let in while her mother shamed her for it. Despite their differences it was always so full of love, something she found was rather lacking here at King Robert’s table.

The king sat at the head of the table with Queen Cersei at his right, though she sat much farther away than her mother did from her father. Prince Joffrey was seated next to the queen and gave Sansa vile looks throughout the meal which she silently shuddered at. Prince Tommen sat towards the end, not bothering with anyone or anything else but the meal laid out in front of him.

King Robert had asked Sansa in his boisterous voice to sit at his left, next to the princess, and tell her all the news from Winterfell. Mostly he inquired about her father which Sansa had expected. She knew they were old friends and had heard all of the battle stories, some of which the king recounted for her. It was interesting to hear how the stories differed, even if she didn’t particularly care for war stories in the first place.

As he finished one story he studied Sansa, looking into her eyes with those great black ones of his. “You do look a lot like your lady mother, but you have the Stark resolve in you, I see it in your eyes. Your father’s just the same.”

Sansa smiled at the unexpected compliment. She was almost never compared to her father. “Thank you, Your Grace.” And the king continued with another story, this one about Greyjoy’s Rebellion.

“So, Lady Sansa,” the Queen interrupted her husband’s story, “I hear that you are to be wed.” It wasn’t a question, rather a statement that she was caught quite off guard by. No one had reminded her unpleasantly of her foul marriage besides the one gold cloak she’d met at the gate. All of the warm feelings that Myrcella had imbued in her about the future were suddenly torn to shreds at the queen’s cold tone.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Sansa replied. The pit of anxiety had settled into her stomach again, made even worse by the queen’s piercing stare.

“It is to be to a woman, is it not?” The queen was stating facts, simple facts, but had a way of making them sound like the deepest sins.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Sansa replied again, choosing to stare downward instead of meet the gaze of the queen or any other member of her family.

“How,  _ ah _ , difficult that must be for your family. The firstborn daughter of a prominent Northern family married to a southron woman, difficult indeed.” The queen meant it as an insult, she knew. It was an embarrassment to her family and to her and everyone knew that. She’d never find peace with this, never.

Sansa felt the tears gathering behind her eyes. All of the hopeful feelings about her marriage and her future came crashing down in an instant at her words and it was only her strength of will that kept her from breaking down into sobs.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Sansa replied again, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. “If it would please Your Grace, may I be excused?”

Robert granted her request. “Myrcella,” he addressed his youngest daughter as Sansa stood, “would you please escort Lady Sansa back to her rooms?”

“Of course Father.” Myrcella said, standing up and taking Sansa’s arm.

As soon as the doors shut behind her she heard the sounds of arguing between the king and queen. She felt awful and barely kept the tears out of her eyes as Myrcella lead them through the corridor.

“Oh, please don’t cry Sansa.” Myrcella said gently, raising a hand to wipe away a tear. “My mother wants to make you feel bad, I don’t know why. I’m sure she meant no insult.”

“I have taken no insult.” Sansa said automatically. Above all things she was loyal to her king and to her queen. She would not admit to any feeling against that.

“Oh, Sansa. My mother is trying to make you feel ashamed when you shouldn’t. A marriage is an honorable tradition, whether it be between a man and a woman or two women. You are doing your duty as a lady, just as I will do mine someday. There is no shame in that.”

Despite the princess’s kind words Sansa still felt that burning pit of shame and anxiety in her belly.

When Sansa didn’t respond Myrcella said, “You should get to bed, after all it’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

“A long day?” Sansa asked. She’d originally planned to relax in King’s Landing for a few days but she was rethinking that now.

Myrcella smiled and patted her arm. “You’ll be introduced to the court tomorrow.”

Sansa sighed heavily and let the princess lead her back to her rooms, wishing to be home again.


	6. SANSA IV

Sansa was exhausted. Spending a day among the trifles and trivialities of the court had boggled her mind and confounded her senses. She collapsed onto the feather bed in her chambers, joined moments later by none other than Princess Myrcella.

“Perhaps you don’t envy me as much as you did before today,” Myrcella giggled, climbing onto the bed.

“I’m afraid not.” Sansa sighed, rolling over to shove her face in her pillow. She had lost all shame when it came to the princess. 

“Court is always awful, dearest Sansa. Though today, I suspect, it was just a tad worse.”

Sansa sighed again, though this time much more deeply. Tears were on her horizon, she knew, and she kept trying to swallow the lump in her throat. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” The princess asked gently, leaning towards her.

“No,” Sansa said, trying to swallow her sobs again, “I’d rather not.”

“Oh, Sansa.”

In all fairness, court should have been wonderful. After all, it was everything Sansa had dreamed of since she was a small girl: seeing all the pretty women in their dresses, the stunning men in their uniforms, and most of all being the center of attention in a king’s hall. However, the vile stares and shady looks burrowed their way under her skin, and she knew why they did so. 

As she passed she heard them whisper about her, about her marriage and how she was a disgraced woman. The first one or two times she could ignore, but after the tenth woman in a gorgeous dress and elegant hair whispered behind her back she found that her skin was not as thick as she would like it to be. 

“Oh, Princess, it was awful! Absolutely awful!” She burst into tears. Myrcella had her arms wrapped around the elder girl in a moment, letting her bury her head in her shoulder.

“My dear Sansa, don’t fret. Those stuffy lords and ladies know nothing of reality, and they only laugh at what they do not understand.”

Sansa sniffed. “I know.” She took a moment to regain her thoughts. “I shouldn’t let their words affect me, I suppose.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” Myrcella agreed. With renewed vigor the princess stood and took Sansa’s hand. “I believe the best cure for an awful morning is a nice afternoon walk. What do you say, my lady?”

Sansa managed a smile. “Of course, Your Grace.” She took Myrcella’s outstretched arm and walked with her, but they had barely made it out of her rooms when they were ambushed by none other than Prince Joffrey.

“Myrcella,” he began, addressing his sister while raking his eyes over Sansa, “I wouldn’t share time with someone like her if I were you.” The way he looked at her made Sansa’s skin crawl, and she felt like she was going to cry.

“Joffrey! How dare you speak to my friend in such a way?” Myrcella stepped forward as if to shield Sansa from his insults.

“I will speak to your  _ friend _ however I like. Especially if she defies all laws of nature to marry a  _ woman _ .” He stepped closer, menacing and frightening. A sharp thrill ran up Sansa’s spine at his gaze and she found herself wishing to be whisked away from the capital, even if that place was Highgarden. 

“Her marriage is none of your business! Now go make yourself useful somewhere else, if you are even capable of that.” She spat out. Sansa knew her words were meant kindly, to her at least, but she found the words cruel, as cruel as the prince, and she found herself running in the opposite direction, down the grand halls, out into the courtyard and past the gates into the street. 

She pulled at her sleeves as she quickly made her way down the street. She didn’t know where she was going, and she had no idea where she wanted to go, but all she knew was that she wanted to be away from that red prison at the top of the hill. Soon enough she found someone running by her side, matching her footsteps as she ran towards the waterfront.

“Lady?” Sansa’s lungs were on fire and she had to stop, and that’s when she took the time to look at her direwolf next to her. Lady nuzzled her hand, doing her best to soothe her mistress. 

“Oh, Lady, what are we to do?” Sansa cried, feeling tears prick behind her eyes. “Everything that I ever wanted is ruined! It would be better if I were dead!”

“No it wouldn’t, my lady.” A familiar voice said next to her. 

“Jory?” Sansa spun around, one hand still firmly on her direwolf. 

He smiled softly and nodded. “Aye, my lady.” He gestured to the red castle atop the hill. “We should head back to the Keep.”

Sansa shook her head firmly, her hand tightening in her direwolf’s fur. “No, I’m never going back there. Never!”

“My lady, if you so wish it, I could gather the rest of your escort and we could be gone from here by tonight. Even I am starting to feel uncomfortable in this city.” He glanced around fretfully as though the eyes of King’s Landing were on him. 

Sansa managed a half-smile. “Yes, Jory, please.”

He smiled at her. “Come then, we’ll get ready to depart.”

“And Lady can come inside the castle walls this time, right?” She felt like a child asking permission.

“Of course, my lady. I’ll stop anyone who says so otherwise.” He offered her his hand.

Sansa nodded, trying to work through all of the emotions that had just overcome her. “Thank you, Jory.”

“Anytime, my lady.”

The duo made their way back to the castle in silence, with Lady who only paused to sniff at something passing on the way. Princess Myrcella met Sansa just as soon as she passed through the Gate.

“Sansa! Where did you go? I’ve been looking all over for you!” She seemed as though she was about to throw her arms around the taller girl but as soon as she saw her expression her face fell.

“Sansa? Is everything alright?” Her tone went from frantic to concerned in a heartbeat.

“My lady, if you so wish I will meet you after this?” Jory gestured to the princess.

“No, please stay. I’ll only be a moment.” Sansa replied, focusing her attention on the princess.

“My dearest Myrcella, I’m afraid that I must leave King’s Landing.” She said sadly.

“Leave? But . . if it’s Joffrey who’s bothering you I’ll set him in line! Oh, Sansa, please don’t leave so soon.” She was suddenly reminded of how  _ young _ the princess really was, at just three-and-ten.

“No, Princess, I cannot stay here and put off the rest of my life. It’s not Joffrey’s doing, or the Queen’s or the King’s, but I’ve realized now that I have to go to Highgarden and meet my fate.”

Princess Myrcella remained sad-eyed, but there was a glint of understanding in them. “You must do what you must do, I suppose. Promise you’ll visit me?”

Sansa half-smiled. “Of course, Princess.”

Myrcella smiled again, reaching out to hug her. “Now, let’s get you packed, shall we?"

 

* * *

 

An hour later Sansa had said a polite goodbye to each of the royal family and had passed through the gates of King’s Landing. Robert had been particularly upset by her sudden departure, and as Sansa rode away she thought she heard the sounds of arguing. But it was behind her now, and hopefully for good. 

“We should arrive, at this pace, in about three weeks.” Jory commented as they stared at the sun, still high in the sky.

“Only three weeks?” Sansa asked. It felt as though it should be longer.

She glanced down at her direwolf, who hadn’t left her side since King’s Landing and then at the road before her. It was time now, and she was ready to finally arrive at Highgarden where she knew her destiny lay.


	7. SANSA V

Three weeks passed much faster than Sansa hoped or expected and soon enough the walls of Highgarden were before her, tall and white.

“Are you ready my lady?” Desmond asked, sliding her a glance.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Here she was, a wild creature of the North, outside of Highgarden. She thought of the past months and of all that had happened and felt dizzy.

Tomard had been sent on ahead to announce their arrival approximately an hour beforehand, and now the remaining four found that all three gates were wide open for their arrival. 

Sansa simply couldn’t get over how  _ massive _ the castle was. Even outside the gates there were hundreds if not thousands of golden roses stretching around the castle, the sight of which made Sansa feel as though she were in a song. The walls rose high into the air and she could just barely see the guards, like ants, standing atop it. Not to mention that there were three of them! There were three different walls, the outermost being the thickest and tallest. As they passed through this gate Sansa spotted a labyrinth blossoming between the outer and middle walls that seemed to stretch all the way around the keep. They passed through the middle gate to find elaborate murals depicting the history of the Reach decorating the innermost wall of the castle. Sansa had never seen anything like it before and felt her heart leap at all the beauty that surrounded her.

As they passed through the innermost gate Sansa saw the Tyrell family standing in a line in the middle of the courtyard, surrounded by some members of their household and guards. She spied what seemed to be the Lord of Highgarden, a fat clean-shaven man who stood tall and proud. Next to him was quite obviously the Lady of Highgarden, a woman who looked motherly enough, but hardly welcoming. On the other side of Lord Mace was a frail-looking old woman, who Sansa guessed was Lady Olenna, the Queen of Thorns. Even from this distance she seemed to be scrutinizing Sansa and she felt her stomach drop. On the other side of Lord Mace and his wife, Lady Alerie, were two boys and a girl who she guessed were their children. She’d done some brief studying on the Tyrell family and guessed that the eldest, with a cane, was Willas Tyrell and the boy next to him was Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers. She supposed their other son was not in the castle. Finally her gaze landed on who was to be her wife, the Lady Margaery Tyrell. She was beautiful, Sansa thought, she was the type of beautiful that was reserved for queens and the ladies in the songs. Even better, she looked kind.

The carriage that Sansa had been riding in for most of the journey felt drab compared to the luxury of Highgarden. Even so, Jory helped her down gracefully and she curtsied for the lord.

Margaery Tyrell stepped forward first, presenting herself as any lady would to a suitor. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Sansa.” She said, thankfully breaking the tension.

She was so polite, and she smiled so genuinely at Sansa that the Stark seemed to have no choice but to trust the doe-eyed girl in front of her. 

“The pleasure is mine, my lady.” Sansa’s heart skipped a beat as she dipped her head respectfully. 

“Please, let me introduce you to the rest of my family.” She took Sansa’s arm, which she knew was completely unorthodox, and walked over to where the rest of her family was standing. 

“My father, Lord Mace Tyrell.” Sansa extended her hand for him to kiss it.

“A pleasure, Lady Sansa. My family and I have been looking forward to your arrival for weeks now.” He said with his booming voice.

“Thank you, Lord Mace. And thank you especially for the warm welcome I have received.” She attempted a smile and he nodded.

“My mother, Lady Alerie Hightower.” Sansa was closer now and still found that the woman was rather distant and seemed uncaring.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She said, with just a hint of disdain. Sansa didn’t blame her.

The smile she got from Willas Tyrell was the most genuine she’d received yet, besides Margaery. He noticed that he stood with the help of a cane and she wondered briefly what had happened to him. The look of pity must have been clear on her face, for he responded with the type of smile that only pitied people give. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Sansa. You will be a welcome addition here at Highgarden.”

Sansa was taken aback. “Thank you, my lord.” 

He smiled kindly again before Margaery brought her attention to the second brother, the Knight of Flowers. If Sansa had seen him at any point under different circumstances she would have fallen in love in one moment. The only thing that stopped her now was Margaery’s soft arm wrapped around hers. She didn’t understand why it felt different.

“I pray that your journey was not too arduous, Lady Sansa.” Loras Tyrell said kindly, kissing her hand. 

“Not at all, Ser Loras, thank you.” She said kindly in return.

“I look forward to getting to know you, my lady.” Sansa found herself blushing just a little at his words. He made them sound so . . . intimate.

“Lastly, I would like to introduce my lady grandmother.” Margaery led her to an old woman who was sitting down next to Loras. Her old eyes studied Sansa like a raven and for the first time since she’d seen the beauty of Highgarden all of her insecurities came rushing back.

“It is my pleasure, my lady.” Sansa curtseyed for the Queen of Thorns, hoping that anything she did would take the old lady’s eyes away from hers.

Lady Olenna nodded. “You’re quite the Northerner, aren’t you?” Sansa was confused. “Well, no matter, we’ll have you looking like a southron soon enough.”

Margaery looked between the two and though Sansa couldn’t see clearly, the younger seemed to cast a glance at her elder. Within a moment she was smiling again and saying, “Grandmother, she’s only just arrived. Perhaps we should give her a chance to settle in.” 

Lady Olenna pressed her mouth into a hard line. “Well then, go on.”

Lord Mace, who had been studying each of Sansa’s interactions and waiting for the right time for the attention to be brought back to him, boomed, “You should get settled in, Lady Sansa. After all, the wedding will be in three days time.”

Sansa gasped. So soon? Three days wasn’t enough time! She didn’t even know what to do!

Margaery seemed to sense her panic and squeezed Sansa’s arm a little bit tighter. “It will be better to have the wedding sooner rather than later,” Margaery whispered in her ear, “that way the fuss will die down sooner.” She did have a point.

“With your permission, Father,” Margaery said, batting her eyelashes at him, “may I escort my betrothed to her rooms? She’s had a rather long journey and I’m sure she would love a soft feather bed.”

Mace nodded, dismissing the rest of the family. Sansa’s things had already been taken away and were being unpacked as Margaery and Sansa strolled through the keep.

As soon as they were indoors and away from more prying eyes Margaery began to speak. “I do so hope you’ll enjoy yourself here, Sansa. May I call you Sansa?” She gave a quick affirmative nod. “Sansa, then.” She paused for a moment as if she didn’t know what to say. “I realize that these . . . circumstances are highly unlikely but since we have no choice in the matter I suppose we should manage to tolerate each other, yes?” Sansa nodded again. “Good, good.” She opened her mouth to speak, closed it, and opened it again. “I do hope to be your friend, at the very least, if you would like that?”

Sansa was quiet for a moment. She had nothing to lose and a friend may not be so bad, especially in a strange a place as this. 

“I’d like that, yes.” She nodded. 

“Your rooms are right here,” Margaery led her through a white door and into a large room that could double as both a study and a lounge. Her room back in Winterfell hadn’t even been as large as this, and there were still more! 

“Through that door over there,” Margaery pointed, “is a bedroom. There’s also a balcony through those doors.” She pointed to two glass doors opposite them that led outside.

“And through that door,” She pointed to another door opposite of the bedroom door, “are my rooms.”

Sansa, who for the past few minutes had felt like everything was going to end perfectly alright, had her heart suddenly crushed by her words. It wasn’t surprising, really, she had no idea she’d be so affected by such a simple statement. Except now the fact that she was getting married to this woman truly hit her. 

“Y-your rooms?” She choked out.

Margaery stiffened a little and swallowed. “As you well know it is customary for . . . spouses to sleep in the same bed, but I supposed that you would want your own space.”

Sansa felt like a child but asked anyway, “W-would you like me to sleep in your bed?”

Margaery shook her head fiercely. “Oh, dear me, of course not! I only want you to feel at home here and if sharing a bed would make you uncomfortable I wouldn’t dare force you.”

Sansa looked down at her feet as she spoke. She was grateful to be marrying someone as kind as Margaery, she supposed, even if she was a woman.  _ Perhaps in another life we’d be sisters.  _

“Thank you.” She said quietly. She felt herself on the verge of tears and asked her betrothed as politely as she could, “If it pleases my lady I’d like to rest.”

Margaery smiled again, though this time it was more forced. “Of course, Sansa. I’ll come fetch you for supper?”

Sansa nodded. “Of course, my lady.”

As Margaery opened the door to her own rooms she stepped back and smiled much more genuinely at the northerner. “Please, call me Margaery.”

Sansa nodded again, feeling dazed. “Margaery.” The name felt strangely right on her tongue. The door closed with a quiet click, and she was alone.

All of the emotions she’d been forcing down inside of her for months now came pouring out in tears that came suddenly and violently. She fell to the ground and clutched her knees to her chest, letting herself become completely undone. 

At some point she dragged herself into her bed that was nothing like her bed at home. Oh, gods, her home. She missed home. She missed her mother. And her father, and her brothers, and even Arya. She missed them all. How was she supposed to get married without her family? How was she supposed to start a life here, at Highgarden, with people who looked at her with scorn and expected things of her she would never live up to?

All her troubles and sobs eventually faded into the sweet embrace of sleep, and she thought no more.


	8. SANSA VI

“My lady? My lady, it’s time to wake up.” Sansa awoke to a handmaiden opening her curtains and letting the sunlight flood into the room. How strange, she thought, blinking the sleep from her eyes, she didn’t quite remember the sunlight being this bright in Winterfell. 

That’s when she remembered she wasn’t in Winterfell. And, to make things doubly worse, she’d slept through dinner.

“Oh, dear me.” She said aloud, pressing her hand to her forehead. Her new . . . family must think her very rude.

“Did anyone stop by my chambers last night?” She asked her handmaiden, who was busy tying back the curtains.

“Yes, m’lady, Lady Margaery did, but once I informed her that you were sleeping she left.” She told her.

Sansa reached down to pet Lady, who was lying next to the bed on the floor. “Oh,” was all she said to that. 

“I’m sure they just thought you were tired from your journey, m’lady. They think no ill of you.” Her handmaiden said with a certain tone that said that she was absolutely right.

“I’m sorry, you’re to be my handmaiden and I haven’t even asked for your name.” Sansa felt horrible for the second time that day, and she’d only just woken up.

Her handmaiden smiled, reminding her of both a mother and a sister. “Palla, m’lady.”

Sansa smiled genuinely. “It’s nice to meet you, Palla.”

Palla smiled softly at her again. “We should get you dressed, shouldn’t we?”

Palla wasted no time in getting her lady ready, even if her direwolf did look at her funny. She wrestled the knots from her hair with deft expertise and styled in a distinctly northern way, as per her request. The handmaiden questioned this. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like something more . . . southern, m’lady?”

To which Sansa shook her head, “No, I quite like it. It reminds me of home.”

Palla had no argument there and picked one of her lady’s lighter dresses to wear. It was a gray-and-white number and even though it had short sleeves, it wouldn’t suit her for long in Highgarden. 

“I’m afraid we will have to find you some dresses more suitable to our climate, m’lady.” Palla informed her, to which Sansa nodded. It was a shame, she thought, she rather preferred her dresses.

As soon as she was ready and not one moment before was when a hand rapped on her door. 

“Who is it?” she asked, to which a voice replied, “Lady Margaery, come to escort the Lady Sansa to breakfast.” Sansa sent a quick nod towards Palla to open it.

“My, you look positively Northern my lady,” was Margaery’s first remark. Sansa blushed, feeling less proud of her heritage and more embarrassed. 

“No, no, please,” Margaery protested, seeing Sansa’s reaction, “you look very nice.” It seemed genuine to Sansa. 

“I’m rather out of place, aren’t I?” She frowned. She’d never fit in here. 

Margaery smiled. “I won’t lie, we don’t see much of that fashion this far south, but I adore it. Though, perhaps later we can find you some cooler dresses. You must be burning up in there!”

Sansa half-smiled, looking down. “Only a little. I’m not quite used to this climate.”

Margaery smiled and twitched her nose. “I’m sure you’ll do just fine. On a different subject breakfast is being served downstairs and I rather hoped you’d accompany me.”

Sansa smiled shyly and took Margaery’s outstretched arm, just as she’d done yesterday.

“I feel horrible for missing dinner last night.” Sansa told her, beckoning for Lady to follow.

Margaery raised an eyebrow at the direwolf, but said nothing more. “Please don’t be, Sansa. You’ve been on the road for such a long time, a castle featherbed must have been a welcome change, hmm?”

“It was.” Sansa agreed. 

“I’m not sure if you inspected it much last night, but how do you find your rooms? Are they suitable?” Margaery asked her. Sansa thought she detected a hint of worry in her tone.

She nodded. “Oh yes, a thousand times yes. They’re even bigger than my rooms back in Winterfell.”

“I’m glad you like them.” On a more serious note she told her, “I do so hope you’ll be happy here, Sansa. Anything you desire, come to me, please.”

Sansa was taken aback at the gesture. “Thank you, my lady.” She was speechless, and Margaery continued.

She cleared her throat before she began, speaking more quietly. “I realize that I’m not who you expected to marry but I promise you that I will be faithful and kind for as long as we are married.” Her words moved something deep within Sansa, and she didn’t know what to feel.

“Thank you, L-” she paused, realizing what she wanted to say, “Margaery.” Of everyone she could have ended up with as her spouse, of all the cruel and hardhearted men she could have married, she instead got to end up with a kind young lady who held nothing but friendship for her. She began to consider herself lucky. 

“Anytime, Sansa.”

As they entered the dining hall Sansa realized she liked how her name sounded on Margaery’s tongue.

* * *

 

Breakfast was pleasant enough, she supposed. The Tyrells were quite obviously doing their best to accommodate her and Sansa was polite in return. The absence of Lady Olenna was quite noticeable, however. Margaery, noticing the look on Sansa’s face had whispered to her that her lady grandmother did not often leave her rooms before noon and yet it still didn’t manage to put Sansa’s mind at ease. She took the older woman’s absence much more seriously than anyone at the breakfast table knew. Everything was going relatively smoothly despite that incident until, of course, Mace Tyrell opened his mouth.

“We should talk final wedding arrangements, shouldn’t we?” He asked, staring pointedly at his daughter and her betrothed. 

Sansa nearly choked on her drink. For nearly five minutes she hadn’t thought about her impending wedding but Mace Tyrell managed to ruin that when he opened his mouth. 

“Yes, of course.” Margaery beamed. “As my betrothed has now arrived it should be much easier to plan. Sansa, how would you enjoy a small wedding?”

The first thought in her mind was  _ no, I would not enjoy a small wedding _ , but then remembered herself and smiled. A small wedding would be less open to ridicule. “That would be so very lovely.”

Margaery smiled sweetly, placing her hand over Sansa’s. “It will be in the small sept at Highgarden, for more privacy. I’ll show it to you, Lady Sansa, it is quite beautiful when the flowers are in full bloom.”

“I’m sure they are, Lady Margaery.” Sansa replied. She felt sick. 

She spaced out while Margaery and Mace talked about wedding arrangements, instead focusing on breathing in and out continuously so that she may make it through this meal. 

“My lady Sansa, are you feeling alright?” Margaery asked, taking notice of how pale the younger girl had become. 

“I don’t believe that I’m, ah, quite used to the climate here. Forgive me, my fair lords and ladies, but may I be excused?” Sansa asked, pressing her hand to her stomach.

“Of course, my lady.” Margaery said, her voice full of concern. “Would you like me to escort you back to your rooms?”

“No, thank you, my lady. Thank you, Lord Mace, Lady Alerie, breakfast was wonderful.” Sansa did all she could to walk out of that room gracefully but as soon as she passed through the doors she was running back to her rooms, desperate to not let her tears fall. 

Palla was making the bed when Sansa burst into her rooms, seeking the comfort of her wolf. 

“M’lady?” The handmaiden asked, making her way over to where her lady was buried in her wolf’s fur. 

“Leave me, please.” Sansa choked out through her sobs. She was fine, even a little excited before Lord Mace started talking about the wedding. It all hit her then, that she was actually going to be  _ married _ to a  _ woman _ . It wasn’t friendship, where she could simply stop being friends for a while, this was for her  _ entire life _ . The magnitude of it hit her like a rock.

“Sansa? Is everything alright?” It was Margaery.

She swallowed her sob. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, Sansa,” Margaery approached her cautiously.

“Please, I’m fine, I just need a moment.”  

“Please, if anything me or my family says or does upsets you, let me know.” Margaery pleaded, sitting down next to Sansa. The northerner kept a hand balled in her wolf’s fur and the other in her lap, avoiding Margaery’s gaze.

When she found out that Sansa wasn’t going to respond she asked, “Is it the wedding?”

Sansa paused for a moment before she nodded. 

Margaery reached out for her hand, which Sansa stared at for a moment before letting it fall into hers. “I promise you, I know the thoughts running through your head right now. I’ve had them too. But this marriage won’t be anything like you expect it to be, because I won’t let it. Just, set aside those thoughts for now and trust me. Can you do that?”

Sansa bit her lip, just barely nodding. Despite barely knowing her, Sansa had faith in the southern girl next to her with her deep brown eyes and it wasn’t hard to at least attempt to trust her.

“Now,” Margaery blinked a few times as if to clear the atmosphere, “I know you’re hot in that dress - do you want to try a few of mine? I think I have some that’ll fit you.”

Margaery stood and helped Sansa to her feet. She led her through their connected door and Sansa saw what Margaery’s room looked like. It wasn’t too dissimilar to hers, but the walls were decorated with painted roses. Margaery led her to a pair of double doors next to her bed and opened them with a sly smirk, revealing her huge closet. 

She let go of Sansa’s hand, heading for a section of her closet with purple dresses. “I think this color would look good on you.” She set the dress into Sansa’s arms before delving back into her closet.

“Hmm, you won’t need a corset, I suppose?” Margaery laughed like it was a rhetorical question.

Sansa glanced around. She knew what a corset  _ was _ , of course, but no one wore one in Winterfell.

“Actually, um . . .” Sansa shook her head and Margaery’s jaw dropped.

“You mean . . . you don’t wear a corset?” Margaery said in disbelief and Sansa shook her head. 

“Well, then,” Margaery cleared her throat, “I suppose I’ll have to find you one.” She rummaged through her closet once more, pulling out a corset that Sansa thought looked too small to fit around anyone. 

“I’ll go call your handmaiden,” Margaery said, setting the corset down on her bed along with a few other dresses she’d picked out. “Palla, isn’t it?”

Sansa nodded, marveling at the fabric in her hands. She wondered how long it took to make a dress like this, with all its fine embroidery. 

Palla rushed into the room when Margaery called and set to work helping her lady into the dresses.

“Why do women in the south wear corsets?” Sansa asked Margaery, who was facing with her back to the girl. 

Margaery laughed, but not condescendingly. “Well, sweet girl, we ladies have to show off our assets  _ somehow _ .”

“Oh.” Sansa looked down at the corset that had yet to be tightened by her handmaiden. It was rather strange, she thought.

The air rushed out of Sansa’s body as Palla quickly and expertly pulled the strings tight behind her. “Oh, gods!” 

Margaery laughed again. “It’s always strange the first time, but you’ll get used to it.”

“Get  _ used _ to it? I can hardly  _ breathe _ !” Palla slipped one of the purple dresses onto her lady while Sansa got used to her new figure.

“Finished, m’lady.” Palla said to both Sansa and Margaery, the latter turning around in an instant. 

“You look like a true southron lady now, Sansa. Though, it seems your wolf doesn’t seem to like it.” She gestured towards Lady who was sitting a few feet from Sansa. She had a rather confused look on her face as she stared at her mistress. 

“It  _ is _ lighter.” Sansa said, spinning around. The breeze felt nice. 

“And it suits you very nicely. A little short, no doubt, but I’ll have the seamstresses sew you some new dresses soon. For now you’re welcome to everything in my closet.” She smiled.

“Thank you.” She said genuinely. 

“Oh!” Margaery started. “I completely forgot! We’ve got to get you fitted for your wedding dress!”

Sansa’s eyes widened.  _ Good gods, I completely forgot about a wedding dress _ . Margaery instantly seemed regretful, however. “I suppose this was not the best time to mention that.”

Sansa shook her head. “We have to get it done at some point.” She said, causing Margaery to smile graciously.

“Are you sure? I can understand if you’d like to put it off.” She told Sansa, but she shook her head again. 

“No, please. I’ve always wanted to see what my wedding dress would look like.” Margaery smiled again and offered the younger girl her arm.

Margaery led her out of the room and down a few flights of stairs, talking all the while.

“Does your direwolf always follow you?” She asked, gesturing to Lady who was trotting alongside. 

Sansa reached down to rest her hand in her fur. “Most of the time, unless I tell her not to.”

Margaery shook her head. “I couldn’t imagine having something that loyal to me. You’re so very lucky.”

Sansa smiled. “I believe she likes you too.”

She smiled. “I’d hope so,” she said with a little laugh. “I’ve heard how fearsome they can be to their enemies. Ah, here we are.” Margaery led her into what was obviously the seamstresses’ room. Dresses and fabrics hung on racks throughout the room, and there was a large mirror at one end. Two ladies were sitting in the corner, gossipping while sewing, but looked up when the two ladies entered.

“Lady Margaery!” The younger one, who appeared to be around the same age as her, said with obvious delight. She stood and gave a curtsy before making her way over to look at Sansa. “And you must be Lady Sansa. It’s so good to meet you at last!”

“At last?” Sansa was puzzled. It sounded as though the woman had been expecting her arrival for weeks.

“Yes, m’lady. I’ve been in charge of making your dress ever since we got word of your betrothal. I do so hope you’ll like it.”

“Alys, please, we don’t want to overwhelm her.” Margaery tutted, laughing. 

“Yes, of course m’lady, I’m just so excited! Come, m’lady, let me show you.” The girl sprinted to a different corner of the room and brought back a large dress.

“Now you must leave, m’lady. It would do no good for you to see your betrothed in her dress before her wedding day.” The older woman, Frenna, said, gesturing for Margaery to leave. Sansa flashed her a look, not exactly sure what was going on. 

Margaery smiled comfortingly. “I’ll be waiting just outside. Come join me when you’ve finished.” She cast a look towards Alys. “Don’t stick her with the needle too much.”

Alys grinned cheekily. “Perhaps she won’t fidget as much as you, m’lady.”

Margaery laughed. “Even so, Alys. We don’t want Lady Sansa to get a bad impression of us,” and she walked out.

“Come, m’lady, let’s get you fitted.” She beckoned for Sansa to follow her into a side dressing room. Sansa didn’t completely know what she was getting into, but followed the excitable young woman anyway.

Twenty minutes later Sansa had been fitted into her dress, finding that she rather liked it. It was a big gown, but it was light, so much so that Sansa felt like she was floating when she walked. She was surprised to find that she was excited for Margaery to see it.

“You look even lovelier than I thought,” Alys told her afterwards as she helped her back into the purple gown, “You’ll be the talk of the castle for days.”

Sansa blushed. “Thank you.”

“If you’re satisfied with the dress m’lady I’ll let you go.” Alys said, having already taken the time to get her measurements. 

“Yes, I am. Thank you.” Sansa said sincerely. Waving good-bye to the two seamstresses Sansa left the room and found Margaery waiting in the hallway for her.

“I hope she didn’t stab you too much.” Margaery said, taking Sansa’s arm.

Sansa felt lighthearted. “No, not at all. Perhaps it is only you.”

Margaery laughed and Sansa thought it was one of the most beautiful things she’d ever heard. “Perhaps it is. She’s always had it out for me.” She playfully whispered the last part in her ear. Sansa laughed joyfully.

“What would you like to do now?” Margaery asked, wrapping her arm around Sansa’s.

“I don’t know,” Sansa confessed, “I don’t know Highgarden as well as you.”

“Then it seems a tour is in order! Tell me, do you like gardens?” Sansa liked how excited Margaery always was, and smiled.

“We didn’t have any gardens in Winterfell, except for the glass gardens.” She confessed. “And those were mostly used for growing food during the winter besides.”

“Then I’ll just  _ have _ to show you!” Margaery smiled, leading her down a hallway, up a flight of stairs and out into the sunlight. Lady followed obediently behind.

“Is it true, I mean, that the gardens are just roses of all different colors?” Sansa asked.

Margaery grinned mischievously. “I’ll suppose you’ll find out in a moment.”

She led her outside into the bright sunlight. Sansa gasped as her vision cleared and she was met with roses in every different color imaginable. 

“Gods.” Sansa said in awe, taking in everything. “Is this real?”

Margaery laughed. “Yes, Sansa.” The two strolled in silence for a moment while Sansa took in the sight. She was so caught up in the sight that she didn’t notice Margaery leading her to a bench underneath a peach tree.

“A peach?” Margaery offered, taking one down off the tree. Sansa turned around, snapped out of her trancelike state and took the offered peach.

“Thank you.” She said, taking a bite. The sweet juices flooded her mouth and she felt like she was in heaven. “Gods, that’s fantastic.”

“Only the best in Highgarden.” Margaery said proudly. They continued to stroll, Margaery showing Sansa all the special little nooks and crannies of the castle’s vast gardens. 

“As we’re soon to share our life together, perhaps we should get to know each other? Tell me about your family, Sansa, what’s the  _ North _ like?” She said it so excitedly, smiling and leaning into Sansa. Her excitement was infectious and Sansa couldn’t help but smile as she told the southerner about Winterfell.

“It’s so much more colorful down here.” Sansa commented, coming to a close. “The North is beautiful, but in the South everything’s just so  _ green _ and bright.” Sansa gestured to the green that surrounded them.

“Perhaps one day we’ll be able to grow our own gardens.” Margaery said casually.

“What do you mean?” Sansa asked.

This is when Margaery began looking a little awkward. “I’d been thinking that, maybe, one day, we could manage our own keep.” As soon as she saw Sansa’s expression, however, she backtracked. “Of course, that’s a long way off and there’s always a place for us at Highgarden.”

“Yes,” was all Sansa said, her throat tightening. “I’m feeling a little fatigued, my lady. May I be excused to go back to my chambers?”

Margaery appeared crestfallen as she looked at the even more despondent younger girl. “Of course, my lady. May I escort you?”

“Yes, my lady.” Margaery took her arm and they strolled back to her room in silence, until they ran into her brother.

“Willas! What are you doing roaming the halls?” Margaery asked, seeming back to her usual self for everyone but Willas. 

Her brother greeted the two ladies, limping over to them. “Good afternoon Margaery, Lady Sansa.” He nodded, smiling. 

“Sansa, you know my brother, Willas.” Sansa nodded in response.

“You seemed rather ill at breakfast this morning, my lady. Are you well?” He inquired, inspecting the northerner. 

“Yes, my lord, thank you.” She said. Margaery smiled, a little uncomfortably.

Willas, sensing that he had interrupted something, was soon to make his leave. “We’ll have to acquaint ourselves at some other time, Lady Sansa. I fear I’ve interrupted something.”

“No, no, not at all, my lord.” Sansa was quick to be polite, but Willas simply smiled and shook his head.

“My dear, I have but a few skills but one of them is knowing when I am not needed. I’ll see you tonight at dinner.”

Sansa smiled, only a little awkwardly, and the two women went on their way.

As soon as they arrived outside of Sansa’s room Margaery stopped, bringing the two face-to-face.

“I’m sorry.” She told her, regret heavy in her voice. “I shouldn’t have said those things in the garden.”

“No, you’re only making plans for the future, it’s perfectly valid. It is I who overreacted.” She apologized in return, but Margaery shook her head.

“I overstepped my boundaries. We’re just getting to know each other and I shouldn’t be making such plans. It just seems as though we’re going to spending a lot of time together in the near future and, well, I can’t help myself. I’m rather forward-thinking.”

Sansa let out a short laugh just to release the tension. “Please, it’s nothing. Already forgotten.” She waved her hand. 

Margaery opened her mouth to say more, but shut it again just as quickly. “I, um, I’ll come to escort you down to dinner later?”

Sansa nodded. “Yes, yes, thank you. I’ll see you tonight.”

Margaery nodded and they parted ways. Sansa closed the door after Lady trotted into her room alongside her and set herself down on the stone. 

Sansa’s thoughts began racing a mile a minute. Instead of confronting them, she decided to finish unpacking. Palla had largely assisted in unpacking, but she had yet to unpack some of her more important possessions. She daintily set out her room the way she desired it to be, moving furniture here and there to please herself. With Palla’s help she moved to face her bed to the way that it was in Winterfell, right against the window. It made her feel more at home.

Palla helped her dress for dinner in one of the new gowns Margaery had given her. For dinner specifically she chose a dark green, Palla’s personal favorite, and styled her hair in Sansa’s simple northern style.

Margaery escorted her to dinner and it was pleasant enough. Mace was much quieter this time around, she noticed, but Willas and Loras kept the table lively, with both Margaery and occasionally Sansa joining in on the laughter. 

After dinner Margaery was escorting Sansa back to her room when she asked, “Would you mind coming to my room for a moment?” As soon as she saw the look on Sansa’s face she hurriedly said, “Oh, gods, no, nothing like that, I’d just like to show you something.”

Sansa nodded and followed the shorter girl into her room, which was much more beautifully decorated than hers. Murals were depicted across her walls and a large living space was added onto by her bedroom in the corner, where a large four-poster bed sat. Margaery went over to a set of drawers while Sansa looked around, taking in the large room.

“Ah, yes, here we are.” She said, coming back over to Sansa with one hand-sized wooden box. She gave it to Sansa and said, “Go on, open it. Technically I’m not supposed to give this to you until our wedding day, but I thought you may like it now.”

Sansa, ever curious, wasted no time in opening the small box to reveal two necklaces. The one on the right was a golden rose, the symbol of House Tyrell on a gold chain, ornate and finely-crafted. The other was the sigil of House Stark, a gray direwolf with a gray chain. They were so beautiful, Sansa thought, they must have taken weeks to create.

“Flip them over.” Margaery suggested, and Sansa did, taking the direwolf in her hands. On the back it read her house words, Winter Is Coming, along with the date of their wedding, two days from now. She did the same for the golden rose, which had the same except for Margaery’s house words, Growing Strong.

“It doesn’t matter which one you decide to keep, for I will wear the other one.” She offered, though Sansa knew that Margaery would want her to pick the rose. She rather liked it, she thought as she stared down at it, it was so simple and yet so ornate at the same time. 

“Thank you.” Sansa told her, shaking her head at the thoughtful gift. Margaery had been nothing but kind to her in the short amount of time they’d spent together, and now she’d gone off and done this. In that moment, Sansa felt guilty. At every turn she’d acted like a child, refusing to accept her fate - but with this necklace she would change that.

She delicately took the golden necklace into her hands. “I rather like the rose.” She told her, to which Margaery beamed with a smile as bright as a thousand suns.

“Would you mind?” She asked, extending the necklace out and lifting her hair. Margaery took it from her in a moment and placed it around Sansa’s neck. A chill ran down her spine at Margaery’s touch on the back of her neck, something she found she enjoyed. She shook it off and grabbed the direwolf, laying it around Margaery’s own neck and fastening it.

They stood across from each other in complete silence except for their breathing. Sansa knew in that moment that Margaery wanted to kiss her, it was evident in her brown eyes, but she couldn’t go there - not yet. 

“Thank you for the necklace.” She said quietly, not quite being able to pull away yet.

“Anything at all.” She said with the slightest hint of firmness. 

“It’s getting late, I should go to bed.”

This broke the spell for both of them and Margaery pulled away, occupying herself by putting the box back on top of the drawer.

“Yes, it is getting rather late. You should head to bed, Sansa, we have a busy few days ahead of us.” And just like that, the moment was over.

“Good night, Lady Margaery.” Sansa told her, retreating back to her bedroom.

“You as well, Lady Sansa.” Margaery said, and the door between their rooms was closed.

That night as Sansa laid in her bed she fingered the rose around her throat and found herself wondering if she should be thinking this much about Margaery’s lips and how they would feel on hers. 


	9. SANSA VII

“What kinds of foods would you enjoy for our wedding feast, Sansa?” Margaery asked as she escorted her through the halls after breakfast. “Highgarden cooks can make anything you like. After all, it is your wedding.”

“You can’t possibly ask me to talk about food after a breakfast of  _ that _ size.” Sansa laughed, clutching her stomach. 

“Wait till you see the feast tomorrow,” Margaery grinned, “you know nothing about  _ size _ .”

Sansa shook her head, laughing gently. She couldn’t begin to imagine any more food. 

“Now, my lady, what sorts of foods would you enjoy at our feast?” Margaery asked.

Sansa didn’t have to think for a moment more. “Lemon cakes.”

“Lemon cakes? I have to admit I never would have guessed. But, if it is lemon cakes you desire then it is lemon cakes you shall have, my lady.”

Sansa smiled. “Thank you.”

As they passed through the halls Sansa noticed how busy everyone was. Handmaidens and servants were rushing through the halls with arms filled with flowers and food and decorations. It was hard for her to imagine that this was all for  _ her _ wedding. 

“Besides lemon cakes, my lady, what are your interests?” Margaery asked, leading them towards the practice fields.

“I like to sew.” Sansa told her. “In fact, I always thought I’d end up making my own wedding dress.”

“I never could stitch properly.” Margaery laughed. “My cousins always made fun of me for it. All the ones I did were crooked. I couldn’t even stitch a rose properly!”

Sansa laughed, and then looked around. “Why are we at the practice fields?”

“We needed to talk to Loras, and he’s usually out here.” Margaery said casually, switching thoughts. 

“We?” She asked, confused. 

“Actually, ‘we’ isn’t correct. Rather, you and him need to talk.” Margaery said, looking straight ahead.

Sansa followed Margaery’s gaze, leading to Loras practicing swordplay on the field.  _ What on earth could she possibly want me to ask him? _   Sansa thought, staring at the Knight of Flowers. 

“Sansa, as you know, it is customary for a male member of the bride’s family to escort her down the aisle. My father is escorting me, and I, well, I thought that you’d like someone too.” Margaery told her with a distressed look. 

Sansa was distressed herself. She hadn’t actually thought about the wedding outside of the fact that it was happening and she was going to be married. There were so many things she was unprepared for, like the dress and the food and now the man who would walk her down the aisle.

“I thought it would be a nice gesture, but if you’d rather not?”

“No, no, it’s completely fine.” Sansa told her, thinking of her own father far away in Winterfell. “Thank you, for thinking of that. In truth I - well, I hadn’t thought about it.”

“I was going to leave it up to you to discuss it, if you’d like?” Margaery asked as they steadily moved towards her brother, who was training with another knight. 

“Umm, yes, I suppose that would be proper.” Sansa said. Margaery stopped walking.

“Sansa,” she said, turning her eye on her, “If you do not want to do this, we can find another way. It doesn’t say anywhere that a bride needs to be walked down the aisle by a man. I don’t want to push anything on you.”

“No, no,” Sansa shook her hand, dismissing it. “It’s something that needs to be done.” She was a stickler for tradition, even if this whole situation was entirely untraditional. 

Margaery nodded and Sansa hoped she looked certain enough that she wouldn’t ask again. She appreciated the sentiment, she truly did, but she was so overwhelmed. Everything was coming at her too fast. Only three days ago she’d still been on the road, having not even laid eyes on her bride. And now . . . by this time tomorrow, she’d be wed.

Meanwhile, Margaery had moved to call to Loras, who had immediately come to meet them.

“Margaery, Lady Sansa.” He greeted, giving a small nod. 

“Loras, Sansa and I have something to ask you. Or, rather, Sansa does.”

Loras looked confused, but smiled and nodded towards Sansa. “What is it you need, my lady?”

Sansa cleared her throat politely as she turned her gaze on Loras. But when she opened her mouth, nothing came out. Sweat beaded on her forehead and her lips were chapped. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t walk down the aisle, she couldn’t  _ get married _ .

Margaery noticed this and was quick to catch up while Loras looked at them blankly. “Sansa’s father isn’t here to walk her down the aisle, and the two of us were hoping that you would do her that favor.”

However, Sansa didn’t hear this, nor Loras’ casual response. She was panicking, well and truly, and doing her best to disguise it. 

“My lady, are you alright?” Loras asked.

“Yes, ser, thank you.” Sansa nodded, not able to meet his eye.

“It will be an honor to escort you tomorrow, my lady.” He bowed his head courteously. “But you do look rather unwell, perhaps I should join Margaery in escorting you back to your rooms?”

She was quick to object. “No, please, I’ll be just fine. Good day, ser.” Sansa began walking away without Margaery, who stayed behind for a moment to share a word with her brother before catching up to Sansa. 

“Sansa! Sansa, wait!” Margaery was out of breath by the time she caught up to her. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, yes, everything’s fine.” Sansa said, still walking briskly. 

Margaery put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks. “You don’t seem fine.” She said with the slightest hint of exasperation. 

“Excuse me, my lady, I’d very much like to get back to my chambers.” Sansa said, going to walk past her until she was once again stopped by Margaery.

“Sansa, please. You’re not fine. It’s as plain as day. But please,  _ please _ , let me help you.”

Sansa put off her response. She truly didn’t know how. And thank the gods, she didn’t have to. For as soon as Margaery finished her sentence a servant came up to the two with a message.

“Lady Sansa, pardon this interruption, but Lady Olenna requests a private audience with you in the garden.”


	10. OLENNA I

The Stark girl was rather fidgety. Every time she moved the chair creaked under her, the blasted old thing. And worse, she was trying not to pick at her nails. Margaery had done that as a child, always picking at the skin on her nails. Olenna told her she’d never get a suitor like that but Margaery hadn’t listened. And so Olenna, after one of Margaery’s cousins’ betrothals had failed, told her granddaughter that he rejected her because of her nails. In reality it was because he got a bastard on her sister, but she didn’t need to mention that. It had worked. Olenna hadn’t seen her pick at her nails since.  _ Though, _ Olenna thought,  _ she didn’t exactly get the spouse I’d wanted for her, nails or no nails. _

Here in front of her sat a child who, to someone important, was worthy of marrying her granddaughter. A ladylike child, to be sure, but in reality just a child hidden in a woman’s dress. A child who was not ready for what this marriage would require of her. At the very least she was pleasant to look at, even if she did have to grow into her looks a bit more. But she was too young and thin, too thin for Olenna’s taste. That would have to change.

“Here, child, eat. We don’t need you to be blown away by a gust of wind in the middle of the wedding, do we?”

“Yes, my lady, of course.” She was quick to respond at least, and was quick to stuff a few Arbor grapes in her mouth. 

_ Oh dear _ , Olenna thought drearily,  _ this one really is all looks, isn’t she? _ If her granddaughter had to wed a Stark, of all things, could it at least been one that didn’t have its head buried in the snow?

“How are you liking Highgarden, child?” She asked, completely neutral.

She smiled, and Olenna could almost believe it was genuine. “It’s very beautiful, and everyone has been so kind to me.” She was obviously trying to please Olenna. She wondered if this girl had any of her own opinions.

“Ah, yes, Highgarden is a beautiful place to live your life in. You were rather lucky to be chosen to be my daughter’s bride.” Olenna watched carefully. The girl hid her face well, but there was a thin layer of aversion hidden. That told Olenna everything she needed to know.

“Yes, my lady, I was. I’m very excited for the wedding.” Surprisingly, she was a decent liar. 

“Treat my granddaughter well, and she will do the same for you.” She advised and the younger girl nodded. 

She dismissed the girl soon after and watched her scamper out from beneath her canopy like a mouse running from a cat. 

Olenna sat back in her chair, deep in thought. The Stark girl wasn’t too impressive, except for her beauty, but she could somewhat lie and that could be useful in the future. But the more pressing matter was why this marriage had been created in the first place. She knew who had done it, for that woman had her hands all over it, but what Olenna couldn’t figure out what was why. Why did she need this marriage to take place?

“Would you like anything more, my lady?” Her serving boy asked, setting down the wine she’d asked for and stirring her out of her thoughts.

Irritated she said, “No, you fool. Go make yourself useful somewhere else.” And then on second thought she called the boy back and said, “More cheese.”


	11. SANSA VIII

“How did your chat with my grandmother go?” Margaery asked, sounding a bit anxious as they continued their stroll through the gardens. 

“She - was kind.” Sansa said, not lying completely. She hadn’t been rude. “She didn’t say much to me.”

Margaery nodded. “She just wanted to meet you, that’s all.”

Sansa nodded in return. “Yes.” She was just puzzled.

Margaery stopped walking as they neared a set of tables and chairs underneath a canopy. Several ladies were seated here, who all looked and dressed like Margaery. 

“I fear that your day of meeting new people is not yet over,” she said, gesturing to the ladies seated and gossiping. “If you wouldn’t mind meeting my cousins? They’ve been very anxious to make your acquaintance.”

Sansa twitched an eyebrow. “Oh, um, yes, that’s fine. I’d be glad to.”

Margaery smiled. “Don’t tell them I said this, but they can get rather overwhelming. I’ll pull you out if you need it.”

Sansa smiled. It’d been a long day and she was feeling rather fatigued, and now more new people were being thrown at her. At least these ladies looked nice enough.

Margaery was quick to introduce all six ladies, who ranged in age from girls who had not yet bled to married women. 

She became rather fond of Meredyth Crane, a girl who was full of laughter and fun tales to tell Sansa. Margaery’s three cousins - Megga, Alla and Elinor - were all quite nice too, but were desperate for attention from their lady’s soon-to-be wife. Lady Alyce Graceford was recently married and when given the chance went on and on about her husband. The more she talked about her knight the more Sansa became self-pitying. As soon as she began gossiping about the things they do in their marriage bed Sansa sent Margaery the signal.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, Lady Alyce, but it’s high time that I escort Lady Stark back to her chambers. After all, we have a big day tomorrow.” All the ladies nodded in agreement and freed Sansa, who hurried back to Margaery’s arm. 

“Would you like to dine with me tonight, privately?” Margaery asked as soon as they were away from her ladies-in-waiting. 

Sansa nodded. She was awfully tired. “Yes, that sounds wonderful.”

They soon walked back to their conjoined chambers and ate their meal, making polite conversation along the way. Mostly they gossiped about Margaery’s ladies, who all had rather striking personalities. Sansa didn’t dislike them at all, which Margaery voiced her surprise about. They reminded her of her lady friends back in Winterfell who were always gossiping about this boy or that one or their needlework or their dresses. Their dinner was cleared away (save for the scraps Sansa fed Lady) but they continued talking, until her handmaiden walked in.

“Lady Sansa?” Palla rushed into the room, carrying a bundle of papers. Sansa looked up in surprise, her eyes flitting to the papers in her hand.

“Yes?”

“I’ve some letters from Winterfell for you. I supposed you’d want to read them right away, but I can put them on your desk if you’d like?” Sansa’s heart lightened.

“No, no, I’ll take them now, please.” Sansa reached out her hand and took the letters, scanning over them. The first was from her mother, she had another from Robb and the last one was from Jeyne.

“Would you like for me to leave you in private?” Margaery asked.

Sansa was struck out of her thoughts. “Oh, no, I’ll go to my own rooms to read these, if you don’t mind?”

Margaery shook her head. “No, not at all.”

Sansa rushed to her rooms and sat down on her bed, Lady obediently next to her and opened the letter from her mother first. 

_ My dearest Sansa, _

_ By the time you’ve read this you’ll most likely be a wedded woman, but if you are not I’ll give you a few pieces of advice that I wish I’d had on my wedding day to your father. Firstly, you are going to feel like you’ve forgotten something. You haven’t. Secondly, your soon-to-be spouse is just as afraid as you are. Gods know your father was, though he certainly didn’t show it. Third, being nervous is perfectly fine. Just don’t let it stop you from enjoying one of the most important days of your life.  _

_ I pray to the gods every day that you are enjoying yourself in Highgarden and that the Tyrells are kind to you. I’ve heard tales of Lady Margaery, and I am interested in knowing if she is as kind as the stories say. I am anxiously awaiting all your tales of the south. I even heard you visited King’s Landing! _

The rest of the letter were anecdotes about life in Winterfell, which easily brought tears to Sansa’s eyes. 

_ Always remember, my sweet girl, you are a Stark. _

_ Love, Mother _

Sansa was in tears as she read the last sentence, but she fingered the golden rose around her neck regardless. 

She moved onto the next letter from Robb, which was filled with similar stories about life in Winterfell and wishing her good luck on her marriage and wishing for all the stories about life in Highgarden. She smiled bittersweetly. She missed her older brother most out of all of her siblings. He’d always been there for her when she was down, and knew the exact thing to say when she was upset. 

_ Don’t be a stranger, sister. Once you’ve settled in, come to Winterfell with your lady wife for a time. By that point I may have a wife of my own and we can share stories. _

If it had been anyone but Robb that would’ve sounded forced and uncomfortable but Sansa knew he was genuine. Perhaps one day they could go to Winterfell, she thought. She’d bring the idea up to Margaery at some point. 

The last letter was the longest, and was from Jeyne. 

_ My dearest Sansa, _

_ I miss you more and more each day! Winterfell is woefully drab without you. All of the other young ladies are boring, not like you.  _

Jeyne continued on a tangent for some time about the present going-ons at Winterfell.

_ How is Highgarden? I’ve heard that it is beautiful. I hope the Tyrells are treating you well. Write me soon. _

_ Your Friend, _

_ Jeyne Poole _

Sansa found it peculiar how Jeyne had written more than a page about herself and Winterfell, but just three sentences asking about her at Highgarden.  _ She probably doesn’t know what to say _ , Sansa figured, disregarding it.

She looked back over the three letters, each one of them talking about Winterfell, and felt deeply homesick. Tears sprang to her eyes as she thought of her home with its rounded towers and warm walls and soon she was heaving with sobs over the loss of her home and her family.

She was startled out of her sobs by a knock on the door connecting her and Margaery’s chambers. “Sansa? Is everything alright?” She couldn’t stop crying long enough to respond. “Can I come in? Sansa, I’m coming in.” Margaery opened the door and walked in, only stopping long enough to find her before walking over.

Sansa, desperate for comfort, threw herself into Margaery’s arms who took her in willingly. She took comfort in her, simply because she was the only person who’d take her in. She started babbling, almost incoherently, about everything - leaving Winterfell, King’s Landing, Highgarden, but mostly Winterfell. Margaery said nothing, just brushed her hand through her hair comfortingly and held her in her arms. Sansa appreciated it more than Margaery knew.

And then she realized that Margaery was quite possibly the worst person to tell anything to. She shouldn’t have said anything at all. So, she put her walls back up and stepped away from her.

“I should go to sleep now.” She said quietly, turning away. “Good night.”

Margaery stood dumbfounded, but reacted quickly. “Sansa -” and then stopped herself. There was nothing more she could do. “Yes, then. Good night. Sleep well. I’ll see you on the morrow.”

“Yes. Tomorrow.” Sansa said. She didn’t move until she heard the door click. She collapsed onto her bed, Lady trotting over from where she’d been waiting to lay with her. 

Lady was good to wrap her arms around, but Sansa found herself wishing as she drifted off to sleep that it was Margaery. 


	12. MARGAERY I

It was her wedding day. 

She’d always thought this day would come with her walking down the aisle to meet a prince, or perhaps a king. Instead she was meeting a red-headed Northern girl whom she’d ended up developing quite the affliction for. 

Margaery had spent every waking moment thinking of her since the moment she’d laid eyes on her three days beforehand. How could she have fallen so deeply in love in just three days? It’s like she was sick, and Sansa was her cure. The very sight of her caused her heart to beat out of her chest. 

As her handmaidens fitted her into her gown - gray-and-white silk with fur trimmings to honor House Stark - she asked herself how she could’ve become this infatuated with her betrothed in such a short amount of time. She was a beauty to be sure, so perhaps it was just that. No, it was more than that. She was quiet, yes, but not exactly shy. She was closed-off, yes, but she had an open heart. And though not exactly worldly, she was kind. She was a naive sort of kind, but nonetheless a gentle soul. She so opposed Margaery in nature, and that was why she was so infatuated. 

“Are you ready, my lady?” Her handmaiden asked as she finished placing her silver circlet in her hair. A touch from her grandmother, no doubt.

“Yes, I believe I am.” Margaery answered, thinking of what was awaiting her in the sept.

She met her father outside her doors. He was dressed in true Tyrell splendor with gold and green adorning his wide torso. 

Margaery took his arm happily, though he had a rather unpleased expression resting on his face. She didn’t want to cause yet another one of these conversations however, so she kept quiet and smiled. The walk to the sept was enjoyable, for the weather was bright. Margaery knew to her core that it was a sign. 

Since they were both the bride they would each walk from opposite directions and meet in the middle, where the septon would be. Even now, Sansa was standing at the opposite door with her brother, dressed in a gown she’d never seen. She ran her free hand across her gray silk. She’d be a Stark tomorrow morning, and Sansa would be a Tyrell. What a peculiar concept. Margaery Baratheon had sounded so much more familiar than Margaery Stark, but the latter  _ did _ have a certain ring to it.

“Whenever you’re ready to begin, my daughter.” Her father told her. She was certain that he was thinking that she would have had a different name as well, though he was much more displeased with the circumstances than she.

Margaery smiled honestly. “I’m ready.”

The doors to the sept opened with a low groan and then her feet were moving; she wasn’t sure how. 

Margaery looked up around the sept. This was the family’s small sept, so it only sat maybe eighty people at most. Perhaps half that number were gathered around the center, most of whom were members of her family. 

The septon stood in the middle; he was an older man, balding, but he was kind. Margaery looked past him, her eyes moving to the doors on the opposite side which were just now opening to reveal . . .

Her. 

Margaery’s heart stopped at the sight of her. She shone like the sun setting over the Mander, her fiery hair cascading down her back in perfect waves. Her dress, a deep green with golden roses falling down the skirts, was the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen, on the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. Margaery wasn’t sure if her legs would be strong enough to carry her.

Her eyes were downcast and she held onto Loras’ arm loosely, giving her the impression she’d rather not be there.  _ I  _ will _ make you happy, Sansa. If it’s the only thing I do.  _ She vowed, and found the strength to carry her to the septon.

Sansa came ever closer to her, eyes remaining down, until they reached each other in the middle of the room. Loras removed her Stark cloak, just as her father removed her Tyrell cloak, and placed it in her hands. 

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.” The septon said, looking towards Margaery.

Margaery went first, carefully draping the Tyrell cloak across Sansa’s pale shoulders and clasping it just under her chin. Sansa looked up at her then, striking green eyes meeting large brown ones. She held so many questions in her great green depths, questions which Margaery could not answer in that moment. She simply nodded, blinking once, and turned so that Sansa could place the gray Stark cloak on her shoulders. Her hands were delicate, her fingers carefully clasping the cloak and letting it lay around her neck. Sansa let out a shuddering breath as she pulled away.

The septon gestured for them to continue and so they said in unison, “With this kiss I pledge my love.”

Margaery leaned in, smiling reassuringly as her lips met Sansa’s for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapters will get longer, i promise! i hope you enjoyed!


	13. SANSA IX

Margaery’s lips were soft and full against hers. She tasted so sweet, like apples and summer. But as soon as it began it was over, and the attendees were politely applauding. 

Margaery held her hand as they walked out of the sept to the main hall for the feast. Sansa was in a daze. Again and again she felt her lips on hers. It was like a bolt of electricity had struck her just then, so shocking that it had shaken her to her very core. She had . . . enjoyed, very much enjoyed, that kiss.

Her wife ( _ her wife!? _ ) squeezed her hand, looking at her with elation and concern. She could barely contain her smile. “Are you ready?”

Her voice brought her out of her thoughts. “Ready for what?”

She smiled sweetly, leaning into her. “The feast, of course.”

Sansa shook her head. “Of course, it must’ve completely slipped my mind.”

They continued walking to Highgarden’s Great Hall, followed by their attendees who were laughing and talking with ease. All Sansa could think of was Margaery’s hand in hers, safely leading her to the High Table where they sat. Margaery’s hand was warm and soft in hers, and she found herself not wanting to ever let go. 

The rest of the feast passed in a blur. First she was eating and receiving various wedding presents, and then she was laughing and dancing with Margaery but she stayed touching her constantly, never letting go. Perhaps it was the wine that went to her head just a little too much, but she didn’t care. It was as though all her worries had dissipated for this one night and she simply focused on her wife. It was the best night of Sansa’s life. 

Sansa was laughing with Willas over something she’d later not remember when Margaery pulled her aside and asked if she was ready for bed.

“Bed? Oh, but I’m not tired.” Sansa said, her drunken mind not processing the implication of her words.

“Yes, but perhaps it’d be best if we left now, before people begin asking questions.” Margaery said patiently, gesturing out to where some lords and knights were looking at them with interesting expressions.

“Oh,” Sansa breathed, uncomfortable. “Yes, I suppose that’d be best.”

Margaery leaned over. “Willas, would you like to make a distraction?”

Willas grinned. “Absolutely.” He got up and walked away from the two women, stopping in the middle of the room. He began tapping a glass to make a toast and that’s when Margaery grabbed Sansa’s hand and they began running towards the door. She could’ve sworn that she heard someone call out their names but she kept running after Margaery, all the way to her chambers and inside, stopping in the middle. Lady was quick to rush after them, but after taking a brief look at Sansa trotted into the other room. 

Sansa watched her go. “I suppose even she knows.”

Margaery shook her head. “Sansa, we don’t have to consummate tonight.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “I won’t make any advances until you’re ready.”

In her drunken state of mind Sansa didn’t know what that meant. Women couldn’t consummate, she thought, or could they? Were they supposed to? She didn’t know. 

“I just thought it’d be preferable to get away from everyone before someone tried to do the bedding ceremony.” Margaery looked shy.

“Oh.” Sansa said, somewhat less confused. “Thank you.”

“But they will expect us to, of course, sleep in the same bed for tonight.” She said, gesturing to her bed.

All of the light feelings Sansa had had all day had died, and now she was left not knowing what to do. She’d been having a good time at the feast, why couldn’t she go back there? 

“I can help you undress, if you’d like?” Margaery said, gesturing towards her gown. 

Sansa looked down at her dress, forgetting that she’d even been wearing it. “Oh, yes, please.”

She turned around and let Margaery fiddle with the buttons and strings, constantly thinking about how her touch set her skin aflame. First their kiss, and then her hand in hers all night, and now her hands on her back . . . she was caught between head and heart. She knew that traditionally this marriage was wrong, and her family should be here and the whole entanglement that was consummation, but then Margaery would smile, or hold her hand, and her lips,  _ oh _ , those  _ lips _ . Sansa couldn’t get them out of her head, all she could do was think about how wonderful it’d all been.

The gown fell down around her once she pulled the last string and Sansa was left in her shift, but her bride was quick to pass her a robe for modesty’s sake. By the time Sansa had thrown on the silk robe Margaery was already busy messing with her own gown.

“Here, let me help.” Sansa said, not waiting for a response before beginning to undo her. In her drunken state this was perhaps too much for her to handle, but she diligently set to the task. Margaery had her back turned to her and so her expression was unreadable, but Sansa thought she glimpsed a smile. It made her happy.

Margaery’s gown dropped to the floor a moment later and she was quick to wrap her own robe around her.

Sansa, watching her, felt a sudden surge of emotion. “Margaery?”

She turned around, looking into her eyes with her deep brown ones, the faintest smile on her face. “Yes?”

_ Kiss me again _ , she wanted to say.  _ Hold me and kiss me right here _ . 

But she faltered. “Thank you.”

Margaery looked confused, but extended her hand to Sansa. “We should get to bed.

Sansa took her hand and didn’t let go as they climbed into their bed. She didn’t ever want to let go.

Margaery blew out the candle. “Good night, my Sansa.”

She fell asleep with Margaery’s hand wrapped tightly in her own.


	14. SANSA X

Sansa woke completely entangled in Margaery. Her head was resting on the brunette’s shoulder and their hands were still entwined from the night before. She was completely at peace. 

She must’ve shifted for Margaery’s gentle voice sweetly greeted her. “Good morning.”

Sansa smiled, still caught up in all of her feelings from the night before. “Good morning,” she murmured against her shoulder. Everything was good and sweet, until . . .

_ Ow! _ Her headache hit her like a hammer. “Oh,” she groaned, raising her hand to her head.

“Headache?” Margaery asked, the slightest hint of laughter in her voice. Sansa groaned in response.

“Here, I’ll go fetch you some water.” She told her, attempting to move. Sansa held onto her hand and downright refused to let her go. Margaery laughed a little and sat back, running her fingers through Sansa’s hair.

“Would you like one of the servants to fetch you some water?” Sansa groaned again, but Margaery was patient.

“It’ll help with your headache.” She pointed out and Sansa knew she was right.

“Okay.” Sansa relented, snuggling closer to her. She smelled like summer. 

Margaery called for the water and for some breakfast, since they both knew that neither of them were leaving this bed any time soon. They sat in comfortable silence while waiting for the handmaiden to return with their food, with Margaery just playing with Sansa’s hair. She liked her touch. Back in Winterfell her and her friends would take turns braiding each other’s hair. It felt similar now, but Margaery was different than a childhood friend. 

Breakfast came and Margaery convinced her to actually eat something instead of sleeping. It was a simple breakfast, but once Sansa began she was like a bottomless pit. She also found that her headache wasn’t as bad.

“Now I know why my mother never let me drink more than a cup of wine at feasts.” Sansa laughed, taking a bite of a roll. 

Margaery laughed in return. “You should’ve seen my brother Garlan at his wedding feast - Father wouldn’t speak to him for weeks because of everything he’d done.”

Sansa barely heard her say ‘wedding’, in fact she’d nearly forgotten that she was now married herself. “I can’t wait to meet your brother.” She told her. Margaery would always tell her stories about her family and he was the only one she had not yet met. She’d told her that after he married Leonette Fossoway he was given Brightwater Keep, the former castle of the Florents. Keeping up his new castle had required a great deal of effort and it wasn’t often he could get away, so he wrote. Margaery was skeptical about this and believed that he didn’t always like being home. 

Another thing Sansa quickly learned about Margaery was that she deeply cared for the smallfolk. Even now as they were lying in bed she began talking about her plans to add another wing onto the local orphanage, and to start a charity around the Reach so that nobles could donate to this cause. Sansa listened intently, marveling at how much Margaery cared for these people she had never met and had never known. 

“After we’ve been married for a while longer I’d love to travel around the Reach, maybe even Dorne, and perhaps we could have a keep of our own . . . wouldn’t that be lovely?”

Margaery’s words had only reminded Sansa of the fact that she was now a wedded woman, and those same horrible feelings came over her once more. Suddenly Margaery was not just a friend, but taboo. Oh, and she’d been laying across her all day, and she’d enjoyed it! Was that bad? It couldn’t be bad if she enjoyed it, right? Gods, she was so confused, she just wanted things to be simple, without all this fear of disappointing her parents and breaking tradition and being an outcast of society! Here Margaery was already making plans, and they hadn’t been married a full day yet! She longed for the simplicity of life in Winterfell, before meeting Margaery and all these confusing, conflicting emotions that fought inside of her.

“It’s getting rather late, perhaps we should get up.” Sansa said, already moving away from her.

Margaery’s eyebrows knitted together as she stared in confusion at Sansa. In a moment she caught up and stood, gesturing to her closet. 

“Today is going to be hot,” Margaery said, “would you like a cooler dress?”

‘No’ was on the tip of Sansa’s tongue and then she thought of how hot her northern dresses were. It only took a moment of deliberation for her to relent and follow Margaery into the closet. 

Margaery rifled through her various dresses before pulling out a deep blue that matched Sansa’s eyes. They were both quiet as Margaery helped her into it and laced it up with gentle fingers. Sansa fingered the dress, admiring the beautiful embroidery across the bodice. The skirt was like a river and reminded her of her mother’s house. 

“It suits you.” Margaery smiled, admiring her. Sansa felt like it did. She moved a bit, holding the skirt in her hands.

“It’s yours.” Margaery said with no hesitation. Sansa stopped.

“What? No, this is yours, you can’t keep giving me your dresses.” She protested.

“Nonsense. I have others.” Margaery shook her head, placing her hands on Sansa’s shoulders, acting like she was smoothing out the fabric.

She was so close. Like their wedding day, when she’d leaned in and the smell of apples and summer had completely intoxicated her, the same was happening now. Margaery was breathtakingly beautiful, Sansa thought, now taking the time to truly look upon her wife. Her mouth was curved upwards into the sweetest smile Sansa had ever known. Her eyes were the color of the garden soil, flecked with small rays of golden sun that made her want to look in them for all time. There was a light smattering of freckles across her nose, a blemish in anyone else’s eyes but hers. Her lips were pink and full, and welcoming.

Margaery leaned in, parting her lips ever so slightly, and breathing so that Sansa could feel the light gust of air on her own lips. Up until now Sansa had never thought she was interested in the fairer sex, but she changed everything. She knew it was wrong, everything she’d been raised to believe in was against this, but here she was.

Sansa looked down shyly, knowing what she wanted but not being brave enough to realize it for herself. And then Margaery’s gentle fingers were under her chin, lifting it so that once again she was looking right into her eyes. And slowly, hesitatingly . . . she leaned forward and their lips touched.

A million feelings ran through Sansa, but all she could focus on was Margaery’s summer lips, combating everything she’d ever known and warming her to her very core. It was everything, but she couldn’t.

Sansa pulled away after the briefest of moments, not sure if she regretted it or not. 

“Forgive me, my lady, if you’ll please excuse me.” And she turned away. 

Margaery took her hand, but Sansa couldn’t meet her face. She’d done the traditionally right thing, she’d done what she wanted, so why did it feel so bad?

She swallowed. “Forgive me, my lady Sansa, I should not have been so forward with you when you do not desire me.”

Sansa felt tears in her eyes as she tore her hand away. “Please don’t think of me like that.” And she fled. 

She threw herself onto her own bed, soft but cold. She was a wreck, she didn’t know what she wanted. On one hand was Margaery, glowing and warm and the embodiment of summer, who wanted her just as much as she did. But this, whatever  _ this _ was, was wrong. Everything she’d been raised to believe in was against this, it said this wasn’t right. But how could something that felt so right be so wrong? She saw Margaery’s face, disappointment and regret etched into her normally sweet and welcoming features. And then she saw her mother on the day she’d told her of the betrothal, how disappointed she was that she was marrying her. She kept going around and around, but she couldn’t decide which one was easier to disappoint.

At some point Lady snuggled up to her, and she clung onto her direwolf like she never had before. As she held onto her she prayed to her mother’s gods, her father’s gods, any gods that would listen, asking for advice that didn’t come that night. 

She fell asleep thinking of Margaery once more, and dreamed of her lips against hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sansa is such a poor confused little thing (but don't worry, she'll get there eventually)


	15. SANSA XI

The gardens were very beautiful, she’d come to notice. And she should know, as she'd spent the last week and a half wandering around them, alone. 

Life had been much lonelier since the day they had kissed after their wedding. Margaery was avoiding her, but Sansa couldn't blame her. She hadn't exactly been the most amicable of wives. As far as Sansa knew Margaery spent her days away from Highgarden, in the local villages and orphanages, but most importantly she was as far away as she could get from Sansa. 

Because of this Sansa was being avoided by just about everyone else in the castle, par from Lady and Palla. Even dinner had become a much quieter affair, with Margaery doing everything in her power to avoid her. She’d begun taking her supper alone in her rooms, just to avoid her. 

She’d sent her a note the day after their kiss, telling Sansa that she would no longer bother her, but she hadn’t expected it to be like this. She thought that Margaery would at least look at her, maybe even talk, but she wasn’t prepared for complete and utter abandonment. 

Perhaps she deserved it; after all she hadn’t done much to warrant Margaery’s kind treatment, and she’d ruined what little she had received. This was her life now, she supposed, gazing around at the lush greenery. She was a lone wolf among roses. 

“Lady Sansa?” She’d been so lost in her own self-pity that she hadn’t heard the  _ tip tap _ of a cane.

She stood for the heir of Highgarden, though still keeping a hand on Lady, gave him a polite curtsy and asked out of politeness if he would like to sit with her. 

“Yes, my lady, that is precisely the reason I sought you out today.” He said, taking a seat next to her. 

Willas was a handsome man, Sansa supposed, but not the kind of beautiful Margaery or Loras were, as he took after his Hightower mother. He did however, share his sibling’s kind eyes, though there was a certain depth of sadness that wasn’t present in theirs. His eyes had known pain, Sansa saw, though that was evident from his crippled knee. But he still managed to cover it up with a gentle, warm smile. 

Now that she was looking at him, truly looking at him for the first time, Sansa remembered overhearing possible suitors for her back in Winterfell, and hearing his name dropped among many.  _ I wouldn’t have minded marrying him _ . 

“You sought me out?” She questioned, gently petting her wolf.

“We haven’t gotten to know one another yet, Sansa, may I call you Sansa?” She nodded and he continued, “We haven’t gotten to know one another since you arrived in Highgarden, and as I am your goodbrother as well as your neighbor, I thought it was time.”

Sansa couldn’t see an issue with this, or any ploy, so she smiled and nodded.

“How are you enjoying Highgarden?” Willas asked. “I noticed you spend a great deal of time in the gardens.”

She nodded. “They’re very beautiful. And Lady enjoys the outdoors.” Lady had been staring down Willas ever since he had approached. 

“Yes, I noticed your direwolf. Does she go everywhere with you?”

“She does,” Sansa ruffled her fur, “She’s very protective over me.”

He smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Sansa, understanding his meaning, was quick to say, “No, no, my lord, she would never harm you.”

He laughed a little. “I’m glad to know. I’m rather interested in keeping myself with as few injuries as possible.”

Sansa smiled, but couldn’t help gazing at his crippled knee. Willas was quick to notice. “Don’t fret, my lady, it’s sore but not overly bothersome.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to stare.” She apologized. This was yet another thing she’d ruined.

Willas waved a hand. “It’s no matter. Your direwolf, is she lonely?”

Sansa was puzzled. “Lonely? I don’t bel- oh, I suppose she might be.” It was easy for Sansa to forget that Lady had been separated from her family just as much as she’d been. Now thinking on it, she  _ had _ been moping recently.

“I breed hounds,” Willas offered, “perhaps your wolf would enjoy their company.”

“Perhaps.” Sansa said, appreciating his sentiment. But she knew Lady wouldn’t enjoy any animal company but her kin. 

“She did seem very fond towards Margaery,” Willas said, and Sansa knew then why he’d sought her out.

“Yes.” Sansa said, waiting for Willas to outright ask her. 

“My lady, I hope you’ll forgive me-” Sansa’s heart stopped, praying to the old gods and the new that he wouldn’t- “but I’ve noticed you wear predominantly Northern clothing. There’s nothing wrong with it, of course, it’s just rare to see such fashion this far south.”

She remembered Margaery saying something similar. Did she really look this out of place? Her insecurity got the best of her for a moment until she remembered that she was a Stark of Winterfell, and these were her clothes.

“I wear Northern clothes because I am a Northerner.” Sansa said, lightly touching one of her braids. But she knew she  _ did _ stand out. Other Highgarden women wore dresses with tight, ornate bodices, short or non-existent sleeves and light, flowing skirts. Sansa stubbornly kept to her Northern fashion, with her tight but simple braids and her thicker, robe-like long-sleeved dresses. 

“I suppose that’s fair.” Willas said, his mouth twitching. 

“It also reminds me of home.” Sansa said, though much quieter. She stole a glance at her goodbrother, who was looking at her sympathetically. 

“It must’ve been terrifying to travel all this way only to meet a castle full of strangers at the end.” He said. At last, someone who understood! It felt like no one had thought of her since the creation of this marriage, it had just all been forced on her so quickly without her consent. “You miss your home, Winterfell?”

Sansa nodded vigorously. “More than anything.”

‘I’m afraid I can’t be a large comfort to you as I’ve never had to leave my home, but I will do my best to make Highgarden as special as Winterfell. And of course, Winterfell will always be with you, no matter where you go.”

Sansa pondered his words, finding comfort in them. Winterfell  _ was _ with her. She couldn’t just forget it, and she could always go back. She imagined her return to her home - her father, perhaps with more gray in his rough beard, her mother, strong and tall as ever with a few more lines on her face, Robb, perhaps with a wife and a son in his arms, Arya, just as boyish as ever, Bran, tall and finally the knight he’d dreamed of being and lastly little Rickon, just as tall as Robb with the same curly red hair. She smiled at the thought. 

“Thank you,” she said, her smile remaining on her lips. His words had lessened her homesickness, even if only by the tiniest bit. 

“Anything I can do to be of assistance, Sansa.” He smiled in return. Willas was so kind, Sansa thought, how could he not have just as kind of a wife yet? She asked him so. 

“I’m afraid I’m not the most desirable of men, and therefore I have a much more difficult time of finding a woman who desires me.” He gestured to his leg and she frowned. 

“Most women must be foolish, then.” It would be harder for any woman to have a crippled husband, but Willas was so sweet and kind that he deserved as sweet and kind of a wife in return. 

Willas shook his head. “Marriage is foolish, but necessary. But that’s enough talk about my marriage. How is your own?.” He inquired and Sansa began fiddling with her hair. Of all the questions he could’ve asked, he just had to ask about her marriage. Though, she supposed, it was his sister’s marriage too.

“It’s going well enough.” Sansa said vaguely.  _ Gods, why did he have to ask? _

Willas raised an eyebrow. “I am your brother by law now, Sansa. You can tell me the truth.”

She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what she felt, she just knew that whatever she did that didn’t bring her closer to Margaery made her feel worse. 

“Everything is just very . . . confusing.” She sighed, folding her hands in her lap. 

Willas was quiet for a moment and then asked, “Sansa, have you ever considered that you may like women?”

Sansa’s eyebrows furrowed together in thought. “I never thought I did. My duty was to marry a lord, or a knight or a prince. I never gave a thought to women.”

Willas looked at her. “Perhaps it’s time to start giving a thought.” He let this sink in before continuing. “My sister cares for you, mayhaps more than is healthy, but she cares for you nonetheless, and she’s done her best to make you feel comfortable here. Take your time and sort out your thoughts, but it’s time to decide on whether you’re going to be my sister’s wife in every sense or just for politics.”

Sansa bit on her lip, thinking over everything he’d said. He was right in everything he said. Margaery had gone out of her way to make her comfortable, from the first moment she got off of her horse, to the necklaces to their wedding night. She’d been so warm and patient and forgiving, so much so that she’d taken Sansa’s rejection of her without question. She’d done what she’d wanted, she always had and Sansa had repaid her with teasing and back-and-forth acceptance and rejection. She’d been horrid to her, receiving without giving like a greedy child. 

She fingered the rose necklace around her throat, her guilt swelling in her stomach. Her lady mother hadn’t raised her to act like this; she’d be ashamed if she saw her acting like this.

“I haven’t been a good wife.” She admitted aloud. Willas gave a simple nod at her confession.

“I have to go find her.” She stood, driven by the sudden desire to be better. She needed Margaery, she knew this now, and she was determined to be better, because she didn’t want to be apart from her. 

“Sansa, she’s not here.” Willas said, remaining seated. 

Sansa was puzzled. “What do you mean she’s not here?”

“She went into town, to go help at the orphanage.” He informed her, and all of her hopes were dashed again. She sat back down, fingering her necklace again.

“When will she be back?” Sansa was desperate now, after coming to this realization and she had to act now before anything else happened. She couldn’t go another minute with Margaery thinking that Sansa didn’t want her. 

“Not until after sundown.” She sighed. She couldn’t wait, it’d already been too long, she may not be able to fix this!

“I’ll wait with you.” Willas offered and she sighed again. 

They sat in silence for a while, Sansa’s hand resting in Lady’s fur for comfort, Willas’ hand on his rose cane.

Willas was the second person in Highgarden who Sansa felt comfortable with. He exerted a calm strength, unlike all the knights she’d read about as a child. They were fierce and physically strong, unlike the man next to her, but for some reason he reminded her of them. He was older, and worn, but he had a certain type of strength that Sansa hadn’t seen before. She trusted him for it. Even now, as they sat in silence, it was comfortable and peaceful. She enjoyed it. Sansa caught herself thinking that if Margaery hadn’t been the Tyrell she’d married she would’ve liked Willas. She wasn’t sure how that made her feel. Even so, after her week of near-solitude his company made Sansa feel peaceful and valued, especially after everything that’d happened with Margaery.

Margaery. Gods, she’d been so horrible to her. Would she even accept her apology? Would she just accept  _ her _ ? She hated that she didn’t know. All she knew was that she wanted Margaery, and that she was ready to want her. 

The sun seemed to take forever to finally fall below the horizon. Sansa shared a look with Willas, who motioned for her to go. She didn’t need any more motivation.

She flew through the gardens, ignoring the stares as she made her way into the castle, up the stairs and to Margaery’s door.

She took a moment to catch her breath before raising her hand to the door, a million doubts flying through her mind. She prayed to every god there was that Margaery was behind that door. What if she wasn’t? Or what if she was but saw that Sansa was at her door and threw her out? What if she never forgave her? What if she hated her? Gods, she -

“Sansa?” Oh, gods.

She turned around slowly, biting her lip as she raised her eyes to look at her. 

She really was beautiful, even after a day spent in town. She was wearing a simple dress, mud staining the hem. Dirt was caked under her fingernails, usually kept so clean. Her hair was frizzy and strands were poking out of the two small braids she twisted in the back, but it looked so natural on her. There were red patches under her eyes from where the sun had kissed her. She looked so simple, but she was so elegant. And her eyes . . . those gorgeous brown depths that Sansa saw in her dreams now stared at her with a mix of annoyance and hurt and confusion. Sansa’s heart fell.

“You’re blocking the door.” She stated. 

“Oh.” Sansa said, the corners of her mouth falling from their smile into a small frown. “Yes, of course.” She moved. Margaery gave her a simple nod and brushed past her, leaving only the scent of apples and sun in her wake. 

She turned back around, now facing the closed door. She’d just been here, looking at her and now she was just gone, disappeared behind a heavy wooden door. 

Lady brushed against her legs, bringing her back to reality. With a heavy heart she followed her wolf back into her own chambers, gazing longingly at their shared door before making her way into her own bedchamber. 

She picked up her needle and thread and began sewing, one of the few things that seemed to make sense to her still. She stitched deep into the night, barely looking up from her work even when Palla came into the room. She sent her away and resumed her work.

By the time the last candle had burned out a golden rose lay beside her.


	16. SANSA XII

Sansa missed Margaery at breakfast the next morning, and the morning after that. She was informed by one of her handmaidens that Margaery was spending the day riding with her ladies, but more specifically Elinor. During her time in Highgarden she’d noticed how close Margaery was with her cousins, specifically Elinor. 

Sansa didn’t know much about Margaery’s cousins, she’d only truly met them once, and then later at the wedding, where she’d danced with Merry Crane and Megga. Besides them the others didn’t seem too interested in her, except that she was Margaery’s bride. Now they all seemed to avoid her, especially since Sansa had rejected her. She couldn’t blame them, though.

Since Sansa didn’t have anything better to do she went to the stables, Lady faithfully by her side as always. She wandered for a bit, half-purposefully and half-letting Lady guide her. They walked into the stables, some of the horses whinnying in fear of the direwolf, but she paid them no mind. But, nevertheless, Sansa sent her off with a brief wave of her hand. 

“The horses don’t seem to like her much.” Willas commented as he stroked a white mare, feeding her some oats from his hand. 

“No,” Sansa said, only half-hearing him. She’d been in kind of a daze for the past couple of days, wandering, thinking. Willas had been helpful, but there was one area he lacked in: he couldn’t make Margaery talk to her. But, he kept her somewhat grounded, and she liked his company. 

Willas asked her a question, startling her out of her thoughts. “My lord?”

He smiled kindly. He knew as well as anyone the state of her mind recently, and accommodated her. “I asked if you are fond of horses.”

“Oh. I am, though they are not half so fond of me.” The corners of her mouth turned up as she thought of Winterfell. While all of her siblings had been given riding lessons, even little Rickon, she’d been the worst by far. While she was able to ride well enough, she’d always preferred a carriage or cart in her travel. 

“Fondness is hardly a factor.” Willas said, making his way toward her. “Horses like a strong rider. If they detect fear they’ll use it against you. They’re like children.”

Sansa nodded. She didn’t have much to say in response, so she opted to stay quiet. 

“Why don’t we take a walk in the gardens?” Willas asked, noticing her silence. She just nodded again and took his hand. 

They walked from the stables back to the gardens, though slowly because of his leg. Sansa didn’t mind, though. When she’d first seen his disfigured leg she’d been perturbed to say the least, but now it was as natural to her as any leg was. It was simply just a part of him; he wouldn’t be Willas without it. 

“Will my wife and her cousins be in the gardens?” Sansa asked. She didn’t want to run into her, especially not after their last encounter. It could’ve been worse, but she didn’t know how. She also didn’t think she’d be this heartbroken. There were a lot of things she didn’t know. 

“I doubt it. As far as I heard she went riding.” Willas informed her. 

“But what if she’s come to the gardens now?” 

Willas stopped, setting his cane against one of the marble statues that decorated the gardens and took her hands in his. “Sansa, you cannot live your life avoiding her.”

“But she doesn’t want to be anywhere near me.” Sansa pitied herself. 

Willas sucked in a deep breath. “Sansa, if she’s spending this much time avoiding you, it means you’re worthy of her time.” 

Sansa’s eyebrows knit together as she mulled over his statement. He had a point. 

“Do you think she wants to see me?” She felt like a child. 

“You’re  _ married _ now, you’re going to see each other regardless.” Willas said. Sansa hoped she wasn’t annoying him. 

“No, I mean yes, we are married, but does she want to be around me?”

Willas took his time to answer. “I can’t answer that for you because I’m not in her head, but knowing my sister I believe that she cares for you and the both of you just have to take time to fix what’s broken between you.”

Sansa nodded, taking it all in. She knew he was right but she found that accepting that was much harder than it seemed. 

“Thank you.” She took her hands from his. “Would you mind if I excused myself?”

Willas waved a hand. “Not at all.” She bid him farewell and walked away, Lady catching up with her after a while. She strolled through the gardens, heading towards the castle but taking her time doing it. 

“Sansa, child,” a voice startled Sansa out of her thoughts and she turned to find the Queen of Thorns sitting on one of her cushioned chairs eating a fig. “Come sit with me.” She gestured to another such chair decorated with the golden rose, and she sat. It would be an understatement to say she was terrified. 

“How is your marriage going?” Olenna asked without preamble. 

Sansa panicked. “It’s, umm, a bit unnatural but it’s been . . . going well, I suppose.”

“Child, we are going to get along much better if you don’t lie to me.” Olenna was irritated, that much was easy to tell. 

Sansa’s heart was pounding out of her chest. This woman could crush her like an Arbor grape, and she’d just  _ lied _ to her. Gods, she was stupid. She opened her mouth to say something but the Queen of Thorns cut her off with her hand. 

“I know that my granddaughter cares for you, and I also know you haven't treated her in a way befitting her.” Sansa swallowed thickly. 

“This is all very confusi-” “You’re confused because you don’t know how to make up your mind, girl.” Olenna snapped, silencing Sansa. 

Her words struck right to Sansa’s core. She knew she was right but until now she hadn’t known how to admit it to herself. 

Olenna had leaned forward in her chair but now sat back, curling her fingers around the arms of the chair. The air was heavy with tension as the silence stretched between them. Sansa stayed quiet, opting to look at her lap instead of the older woman opposite her. 

She began again in a gentler voice, which was still a bit snappy. “Sansa, have you considered that you may prefer women?”

Willas had asked her the same question not two days before, and she thought she had more of an answer than the first time. She wanted Margaery, that’s all she knew. She wanted her completely, because she felt empty without her. 

“I have considered it some,” Sansa said cautiously. She didn’t know what she wanted to hear. 

“Continue,” Lady Olenna said, gesturing with her hand. 

Sansa took a moment to find the right words. “When I . . . I first arrived I was against the idea of marrying a woman, but now . . . now I think I’m ready to be more of a wife to her but she’s refusing to see me.”

“Have you made your intentions clear?” Olenna asked. Sansa wrung her hands together. 

“Well, no . . .” Sansa trailed off, looking back down at her lap. 

“I would suggest you do that, child.” Olenna said, and Sansa knew it wasn’t a suggestion. 

“How?” Sansa said in a child’s voice. “She won’t talk to me.” 

Olenna studied her for a long moment, and to Sansa it seemed as though she were debating something, though she knew not what. 

“My primary concern is the welfare and happiness of my granddaughter,” Olenna began, “and it seems as though you, for whatever reason, make her happy.” She gripped the arms of her chair. “But she is stubborn. Go to her rooms tonight and stay there until she comes in. Then you can sort out whatever mess you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Sansa nodded. She couldn’t very well deny the Queen of Thorns, and so she nodded. 

“What if she throws me out before we get to talk?” She couldn’t help but ask. 

“Oh, my dear, that won’t happen.” Sansa felt like there were more to her words than met the eye. 

She left Lady Olenna not too long after that and made her way back to her chambers. It was about mid-afternoon. She had no idea when Margaery would return. 

The door between their chambers was always unlocked, even now, when they were not on the best of terms. 

She changed into a more casual gown, mostly doing so just to kill time. She was still debating on whether or not to follow through with Lady Olenna’s plan.  _ Would it work? Will she listen to what I have to say? Or will she cast me out and never look at me again?  _

It was Lady who finally pushed her into Margaery’s room. Sansa had been standing at the door for far too many minutes, her hand sitting just above the knob. She couldn’t quite work up the courage to open it, not yet. There were so many scenarios running through her head, ones that never worked out well for her. If she opened this door Margaery might yell at her, accuse her of trespassing or worse, say nothing and have that disappointed look on her face Sansa knew all too well. 

She was deep in thought when Lady pushed her hand, making the door open. Sansa gasped in shock, just catching herself from falling into the room. 

“Lady!” She tried to scold, but the direwolf was already padding into her room, settling herself at the foot of the bed. Sansa had no choice but to follow. She at first settled herself into one of Margaery’s sitting chairs, but after a while she got too fidgety and started pacing. Lady barked at her when she paced for too long, and she sat back down again. This happened a few more times before Sansa finally heard the door open.

Lady bolted, leaving Sansa alone for Margaery to discover her. She sat down on the bed, waiting for her to turn the corner and see her. Gods, she was nervous. Her hands were shaking, her palms were sweaty, she felt as though she might throw up.  _ Gods, please don’t let her hate me _ . 

Sansa’s heart was beating out of her chest, waiting for that moment.

And then, she was there.

She walked in so casually, as she supposed one does when in the privacy of their bedroom. She had begun to rid herself of her riding clothes, but then she saw Sansa.

Her eyes widened in shock, her mouth opening slightly, and then her face fell back into neutral displeasure with just a hint of sadness behind her eyes. She put all of her weight on one leg, her hand on her hip, her eyebrows raised in a question.

_ What do you have to say to me? _

Sansa gulped, trying to calm her racing heart, and opened her mouth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my apologies for the late update; i hadn't quite finished the chapter yesterday and i've been on a family trip for the past few days, and because of this trip i may not have time to write another chapter for sunday (don't worry though, if there's not one this coming sunday there will be one the sunday after)
> 
> but, can we talk about that got premiere?? i'm shook


	17. SANSA XIII

Sansa opened her mouth, but she couldn’t find the right words to say. Margaery held up her hand to stop her and her mouth clamped shut.  

“I know what you’re going to say, and I’m perfectly fine with this marriage being nothing more than political.” Her voice was tired, heavy.

“No!” Sansa cried out, standing up. Margaery looked shocked and she took a moment to compose herself. “I mean, I don’t want this marriage to be just political.”

She looked skeptical. “What are you saying?”

Sansa took in a deep breath and looked right at her. “I’ve been horrible to you, I know, and I’m so sorry for that. I don’t think you can ever forgive me. But I’ve done a lot of thinking over the past fortnight and I’m ready to be your wife, a real wife, in every way I can be.”

Sansa was wringing her hands together, scared out of her mind, but she couldn’t take her eyes off her. She saw her face descend from skepticism into confusion into thought and finally into something else entirely, something that Sansa couldn’t decipher.

Margaery folded her hands together and met Sansa’s eyes, looking as though she were scrutinizing her. It was like this for several long, tension-filled moments. She could feel her heartbeat pumping through her, nervous and loud, and the sweat starting to bead on her forehead.

Relief swept through her when Margaery looked away. That meant she wasn’t terribly mad, right? That they could go somewhere from here?

Margaery, instead of saying anything, sat down at her chair and began unlacing her boots. Sansa didn’t say anything but a thousand different things were running through her head. Sansa had thought she’d come near, maybe sit on the bed and they would talk and Margaery would forgive her and it would all be as it should. But this, Margaery just sitting in silence and taking off her shoes . . . it was uncomfortable.

When Margaery stood up and walked into her closet Sansa couldn’t stand it anymore.

“What are you doing?” She asked, trying not to let any frustration into her voice.

Her wife turned around casually, like this was an ordinary night. “I’m getting ready for bed, of course.” Margaery let the words sink in, but Sansa was even more confused than ever.

“Bed?” She asked.

“Yes that’s usually where a married couple sleep, is it not?” Margaery said, disappearing into the recesses of her closet to throw on her nightgown. “Go get your nightclothes on.”

Sansa was confused. She looked around the room, trying to see if she’d somehow fallen into a different world. Surely Margaery wanted to talk, not just . . . go to bed? This didn’t make sense.

“Do you need help out of your dress?” Margaery asked, walking back into the room and looking at her.

“Um, I’ll just call my handmaid.” Sansa went to go call for her, but Margaery stopped her.

“No need to go through all that trouble. Here, let me.” She turned Sansa around before she could even register what was happening, and her laces were undone by the time she had. Her voice was not quite cold, but it was short and demanding, even though the words could’ve been tender.

Her dress fell to the floor, leaving her in only her shift. She went into her own room to get her nightgown, throwing it over her head and walking back into Margaery’s bedroom. She was walking around the room, blowing out the excess candles, and once she was done she climbed back into her bed.

“I didn’t see you there.” Margaery said, her voice seeming more tender in the dim lighting. She patted the empty space next to her. “Here.”

Sansa hesitated for a moment, still convinced she was in the wrong place, but Margaery’s voice was calm and welcoming and soon enough her feet were slowly headed towards her. She wasn’t quite sure what she was doing, or what Margaery wanted from her, but whatever it was she hoped she was doing it right.

Sansa settled into the bed, sliding herself under the covers. _Perhaps now is when we’ll talk?_ But Margaery apparently had other plans. She blew out the last few candles, dousing the room in darkness.

“Good night, Sansa.” Margaery said, wrapping an arm around her middle. Her voice more tender than anything else she’d heard all day. Sansa settled in, bringing the covers up to her chest and leaning into Margaery’s touch.

“Good night, Margaery.” Sansa heard herself say. It wasn’t long until her wife fell asleep, gently snoring against Sansa’s shoulder, but she was still too confused to let her mind rest. She thought about their interaction, the tone of her voice, the touch of her skin, but by the end she came up with one solution.

Margaery had forgiven her. And with that, Sansa was able to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Sansa woke to the sound of two women talking softly, but paid no mind to it, letting their voices lull her back into the place between sleeping and waking. She subconsciously reached out, pulling the covers around her and reaching out for her wolf. But, much to her sleepy surprise, there was nothing there but sheets. She opened her eyes, discovering that these weren’t even _her_ sheets. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and looked up - right at a half-naked Margaery.

She shut her eyes, trying to pretend that she hadn’t seen that. The sound of giggles carried through the room, light and musical, but Sansa’s insides were anything but light.

“Sansa, sweet, you can open your eyes now.” Margaery said, but it still took a moment for her to open them. Luckily, Margaery was dressed this time around.

“Of course you’ve never seen each other unclothed.” Marei, Margaery’s handmaiden, laughed.

 _That’s right_ , Sansa remembered, _we ‘consummated’._

“Oh hush now, proper ladies don’t speak of such things.” Margaery said lightly, then turned to Sansa. “I’m going into town today, if you’d like to join me?”

Sansa still felt as though she’d fallen into a different world and her mind was still foggy from sleep but she found herself nodding yes. She got up out of bed and stretched, going to call for her own handmaiden.

“Oh, that’s not necessary.” Margaery stopped her and said with a grin, “I believe between the two of us we can get you dressed.”

Sansa’s jaw dropped but she was quick to shut it again. Marei was not so discreet.

“Marei, you’re dismissed.” Margaery said, the same grin on her face, but her eyes only on Sansa. Marei rushed out of the room, sure to tell the other servants what she’d just seen.

“That’s going to be spread all over the castle by nightfall.” Sansa said, feeling both anxious and a little thrilled.

Margaery just shrugged, the ghost of her grin still resting on her face. “What do you want to wear?”

The castle dressmakers had finished a few dresses for her a few days ago, but she hadn’t taken the time to wear any of them yet. So, still feeling that same thrill she went to go get one, a dark green that brought out the vibrant red of her hair. Margaery seemed to agree with the choice, judging by the look on her face.

Sansa smiled, growing ever more comfortable with this, no matter how confused she may be. She supposed that this was what she wanted, though she didn’t think it would happen like this.  Margaery helped her lace up the dress, her soft fingers gentle against her skin. They may have lingered on her longer than necessary, but Sansa wasn’t going to say anything against it. After weeks with no touch it was welcomed, despite the confusing turn of events over the past day.

Margaery styled Sansa’s hair in the Reach style, like Sansa had never worn before. Margaery’s hands were deft and accurate, spinning her hair into the flowing style of the south and brushing it until it shone. She stood when she was done, looking in the mirror.

“I look like a Southerner.” Sansa laughed, twirling a bit of her hair.

“You are in the South.” Margaery said factually, moving Sansa’s hair so that it fell over her shoulder.

“Indeed I am.” Sansa smiled, taking comfort in this thought for once.

_I was a red wolf in Winterfell, and now I am a red rose in Highgarden._

“Are you ready?” Margaery asked, extending her arm so that Sansa may take it.

Sansa smiled, her heart full to burst with happiness. “I am.”

A servant handed Margaery an empty basket before they left the castle, and a guard accompanied them, though he kept his distance. The town was not far from Highgarden, houses springing up only mere yards from the south gate. The south side of Highgarden was a bustling place, with smallfolk bustling about doing their daily chores. When Lady Margaery and herself passed the smallfolk dipped their heads in respect before crying out her name and coming to her. Margaery stopped and talked to them, listening attentively and kindly introducing them to Sansa.

She’d never been surrounded by so many caring smallfolk in her life. These people asked her how she was, complimented her dress and her hair, promised to give her gifts. Sansa smiled at each, doing her best to treat them as Margaery would. In Winterfell the only ones she had known were those who worked in Winterfell. She hadn’t even known the smallfolk in Winter Town, not like Margaery knew these people.

A small crowd had gathered around them by the time Margaery finally said, “Please, please. My lady and I are headed to the market and I’m afraid it may be nightfall by the time we get there.” Her musical voice rang out across the crowd and the response was happy laughter. It took only a moment for the crowd to clear and the two were on their way again.

“Margaery?” Sansa leaned in.

“Yes, my dear?” She asked, leaning into Sansa.

“This may be a stupid question, but . . .”

“Yes?”

“The smallfolk do know we are married, yes?”

Margaery nodded. “Then why do they treat us so kindly?”

Margaery smiled, squeezing Sansa’s arm. “Things are much different in the Reach, love. We are more forgiving here.”

Sansa was confused. “But . . . why?”

Margaery laughed and Sansa felt like a child. “Love is love, and we Reachmen respect love in all its forms.”

“Even in something like this?”

“Yes, my dove, even in something like this.” Margaery smiled softly, intertwining her hand with hers. Sansa smiled, feeling truly comfortable in this marriage in every aspect for the first time.

The market was busy, though everyone made way for Lady Margaery and her lady. They floated from stall to stall, shop to shop, buying all manner of things. Candles, apples, peaches, plums, a bottle of wine, and a bolt of cloth when Sansa requested it. That was only what they bought; that and much more was simply given to them: fruit and candy and flowers, specifically roses.

The people of the Reach _adored_ their roses. Any and every color was freely given to the two women, red and purple and gold. Margaery’s basket was overflowing by midday.

They stopped at the local inn for the midday meal. The innkeep gave them his best table and served them himself, despite Margaery’s insistence that he needn’t go to such trouble.

“Is it always like this when you come into town?” Sansa asked, gesturing to her quite-full basket.

The corners of her mouth turned up. “You have attracted quite a bit of attention.”

Sansa smiled shyly, though she secretly reveled in the attention the smallfolk gave her. They loved her, and she loved them for it.

“Margaery?” She looked up at her. “Why do they love you so much? And why do you love them?”

Surprise was etched plainly on her wife’s face. “Sansa, the smallfolk are no different from nobleborn, par from the fact that we were born into wealthy families and they were born into lowly ones. They are people just as we are, who desire the same things as we do. I simply treat them with the same respect they treat me with, and they reward me with their love.” She paused, her eyebrows twitching. “Why shouldn’t I love them?”

Sansa, in her near-fifteen years, had never bothered to think of the smallfolk as equals. People, yes, but equals? But Margaery’s heart was so open, so welcoming, that she had somehow found room for both Sansa and all of her people. She admired her for it.

Sansa nodded her agreement. But something else was weighing on her mind, something that she wasn’t sure how to talk to Margaery about. She looked up and watched her take a sip of her wine. She caught Sansa looking and her mouth turned upwards into a sweet smile, melting Sansa’s insides with a single look.

_Now isn’t the time to ask her. I’ll wait, wait until more time has passed. Yes, that’s what I’ll do._

“Have you ever tried a candied rose, Sansa?” Margaery asked as they left the inn.

“Candied rose?” Sansa asked, and Margaery’s face bloomed into a grin. She broke off into a run, dragging Sansa along behind her.

“Margaery!” Sansa shouted, caught off guard by her wife’s sudden burst. She dragged her over to a stall that looked like any other florist stall.

“Can I have two of every color?” Margaery asked excitedly, eyes lighting up like a little girl.

The candy vendor went to work immediately. “Anything for m’lady.”

The man handed over the bag of candied roses with a genuine smile, one that was echoed on Margaery. They walked together out of town and back to the castle. Margaery withheld the candy the entire way with that smirking grin on her face. The two strode through the Outer Gate, the guards saluting them as they walked through, happily greeting their beloved lady and as an afterthought, their lady’s wife. Sansa wasn’t sure if she was offended or not - she was just too happy that she was with Margaery.

Sansa assumed they were headed back to the castle but was perplexed when instead Margaery took a turn after they passed through the Middle Gate, following a path decorated with trees and fountains, just like the gardens inside the castle walls. These gardens were more open, less of a garden and more of a miniature forest. It reminded Sansa of the godswood in Winterfell.

Along the middle wall were towers, short and square and crumbling, obviously dating back to the time before the Andals came to Westeros. They may have once been defense towers but had been replaced by taller circular towers on the outermost wall. Margaery led her into one of these square towers.

“Margaery?” Sansa hesitated at the entrance. Her wife turned around, seeing Sansa’s troubles.

She smiled reassuringly, with a glint of humor hidden in her eyes. “These towers have stood for thousands of years, Sansa. They won’t fall on us.”

Feeling more reassured she followed her to a corner of the tower and laid down the blanket at the bottom of her basket. She patted the area next to her. “Come sit and taste the delight of Highgarden’s candied roses.” She said in a playful tone. Sansa dared not resist.

“Here, try this.” Margaery said, pulling two purple roses out of her basket and giving one to Sansa. When she saw her hesitate she egged her on, saying, “I promise you, they’re delicious.”

The corner of her mouth turned up and Sansa took a bite. She was expecting it to be soft, like a rose’s petals but it was quite the opposite; Sansa bit down hard, Margaery’s laughter following a moment after.

“I’m sorry, my sweet, I should have warned you.” She managed to say through her laughter. Sansa rubbed her jaw where she’d bitten down, laughing at herself.

“Oh, my sweet wife, are you hurt?” Margaery’s laughter died as she looked to her wife. Sansa shook her head no, but she wasn’t buying it. “Here, my love, let me make it better.” Without hesitation she placed her hands on her cheeks and pressed her pretty pink lips to the side of Sansa’s mouth.

She was frozen for a moment, completely caught off guard by Margaery’s sudden advancement. Margaery broke it off as quickly as she’d initiated it, sitting back on her hands with a pleased but hesitant smile. She was waiting for Sansa’s response. Sansa blinked, not sure if she herself was as confident in what she wanted, but knowing that she was. Something warm and happy had bloomed inside her when Margaery kissed her just now, something she wanted to feel until time stopped. So, just barely hesitating, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to Margaery’s own.

Her shock was evident, but her wife wasted no time in swooping in and pressing her hand to her cheek. She smiled against her lips. She felt as warm as the summer sun smiling down over the Mander, as sweet as the apples from the bursting green orchards, as rich as the soil beneath their feet.

Margaery broke away first, leaving her palm on Sansa’s cheek and staring directly into her eyes. “Thank you.” She said with the greatest sincerity.

Sansa wasn’t exactly sure what she was thanking her for. She should’ve been screaming at her for everything they’d done to each other but here she was, thanking her. Sansa nodded, smiling, looking right at her and said the same in return. The corner of her wife’s mouth turned up.

“Are you ready?” Margaery asked, equal parts fun and serious.

Sansa pondered that question for a moment, thinking about anything and everything, every outcome, every possibility, every hardship, every ease, all that had brought them to this moment, good and bad.

“As ready as I can be.” She said, and for the first time felt truly confident in her answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey if any of you guys wanna come talk about sansa or margaery (or marg's motives, if you're a bit confused about this chapter) come hit me up @gardensansa on tumblr, i'd love to chat
> 
> also, remember that marg always has the upper hand. always.


	18. MARGAERY II

Margaery was extraordinarily happy. She hadn’t expected Sansa to be as willing or as ready as she’d claimed to be and had been pleasantly surprised when she’d kissed her back. It wasn’t just that either; ever since last night she’d gone along with what she said, only hesitating when she was purposefully led into confusing situations. Margaery was proud of her. The naive child that had come to Highgarden three weeks before was slowly melting away, exploring and feeling her way out of the shell she’d hidden inside of for so long. She was still naive, absurdly naive, but hopefully with more time she’d become more confident in herself. That was the least Margaery could do for the girl who’d snuck her way into her heart.

She did love her, or felt something akin to love for her. The way her hair shone in the light, the way her blue eyes sparkled like the sun shining over the water when she was happy; even the way she walked, all flowing and light, was intoxicating. And Margaery was quite intoxicated. 

The two made their way back to the main keep, Margaery’s arm wrapped firmly around her wife’s. Sansa was taller than her, just enough so that Margaery could lean into her, and could almost rest her head on her shoulder. She liked that. She was hardly short herself and found that when she was with other women she couldn’t lean into them like she could with Sansa. 

“Do you like riding, my lady?” She asked Sansa as they passed the stables. She saw her wife delve into thought, thinking of the perfect pretty little words to say. She always put so much thought into such little questions. It was endearing, to a fault.

“I’ve never been a great rider.” She said. She had a way of answering without answering the question. A good skill, if misused. 

“But do you like it?” Margaery pressed. Her wife shrugged.

“I suppose so.” 

“You know my brother breeds the finest horses in the Reach? Perhaps with the right horse you’d find you like riding. What do you think?”

Her eyebrows twitched together, but then a smile tugged at her lips. “Mayhaps you’re right.”

Margaery smiled, squeezing her arm. When she’d first met Sansa she reminded her of a wolf without its pack, or a wolf who was already distant from most of its pack. She was determined to try and include her in her own. She was lost in her own strange little way, but Margaery would get her back on the path. 

They had walked into the courtyard when they were spied by Willas, on his way to his stables. He caught sight of the two women and even from here Margaery could see the look of surprise on his face. She knew he’d spent the last weeks with Sansa and that he’d not suspected anything like this to occur. Margaery steered them in the direction of her brother with a pleased smile on her face.

“Margaery, Sansa.” He greeted, the corner of his mouth turning up. “I hear you had a pleasant day in town.” She saw Sansa smile and echoed it.

“Quite a pleasant day.” That warm feeling from when Sansa had kissed her flamed anew. 

“I tried candied roses for the first time.” Her wife smiled. She liked her brother. 

Willas and Sansa engaged in some smalltalk for a moment while Margaery observed, only butting in when she had something of her own to say. The two got along famously, much to her surprise. She was pleased Sansa had found someone besides herself to grow close with during her time in Highgarden, but there was a faint surge of jealousy deep within her. She forced herself to quiet it.

“Will the two of you be joining the rest of the family for dinner tonight? Loras says Lord Renly is expected to arrive from King’s Landing, and you know how Father is.” Willas gave her a knowing look at that last part. 

Margaery laughed. “Yes, I know our father.” She turned to Sansa, “What do you say, my sweet? Shall we dine with Lord Renly tonight?”

Her wife had a look on her face that seemed to question her on why she was asking her, but she quickly nodded. “I’d love to.”

“You may regret that after meeting Lord Renly.” Willas grinned but Margaery was quick to scold him, albeit playfully.

“Lord Renly is a fine man.” She argued, more for Loras’ sake than her own opinion.

“Yes, of course he is sweet sister, but he is quite the  _ pompous _ one. No doubt we’ll have a ten-course meal tonight.”

“If it were up to you, my dear frugal brother, we’d have naught but bread and cheese for our every meal.” Willas scoffed at her comment, but there was a twinkle in his eye. 

“If you don’t hurry and ready yourself for tonight you may only get bread and cheese.” He stepped aside to let the two women pass. She noticed that he shared a particular look with Sansa, but thought nothing of it.

The two women walked back to their rooms, Margaery delightfully informing her about Renly. “He is full of himself, but you’ll like him. He’s impossible not to like.” Her own opinion of him may not have been what she said, but she knew Sansa would like him. It wouldn’t due to give her her own belief before she even met the man.    
  
“Is he anything like his brother the king?” She asked, trying not to let her true intentions show. It was obvious that though her lord father cared for the king there was no love lost on her. Margaery kept that in mind.    
  
“No, my sweet.” Sansa seemed satisfied at that.

They arrived in their rooms a few moments later. Her wife went to the pitcher of lemon water and sat down while Margaery went into her own closet to find something to wear for dinner. 

“Margaery?” Sansa called. She poked her head out of the closet.

“Yes?”

“Are you . . . changing?” 

Margaery’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Are you not changing?”

“Why should I change?” She looked down at her gown. “Is this not appropriate enough for dinner?" 

Her eyes glinted. “Of course it is, but Sansa, the joy of owning so many gowns is having the ability to wear them all.”  She saw the corners of her wife’s mouth turn up and beckoned her closer. “Here, my love,” She handed her one of her new dresses made by the seamstresses; it was purple with sleeves of Myrish lace and an embroidered bodice. If Sansa wondered why some of them had been moved to her closet she didn’t show it.   
  
Margaery helped her into the purple dress, taking her time doing the laces and buttons and such. Sansa was very private about her body, she’d noticed, refusing to take off her shift and even while she had only that on she’d cover her front with her hands. Margaery couldn’t remember a time when she’d ever been that shy. She let her fingers linger on Sansa’s skin longer than was probably necessary, but she believed that they both enjoyed the way she shivered at the touch.   
  
For herself she chose a sleeveless low-cut dress with a green skirt and a gold rose-embroidered bodice. Her wife could have her many skirts and sleeves and layers, but Margaery preferred lighter clothing.  
  
A servant came in to announce that Lord Renly had arrived and that they would be dining in the Small Hall. Her wife was surprised. Whenever they dined with just the family they dined in their personal dining hall, on the first floor of the castle and near most of the family’s rooms. The Small Hall was off of the Great Hall in the middle of the castle and scarcely ever used. Its only true purpose at this point was to serve as a dining chamber for the family and any close family friends of importance. In other words, it was only used whenever Lord Renly paid a visit to Highgarden.   
  
“How long have your family been friends with Lord Renly?” Sansa asked as they made their way to the Small Hall.   
  
“In truth he is friends with Loras first and foremost, but we’ve come to enjoy his company and he ours.” Margaery’s arm was wrapped around Sansa’s as always as they strode through the castle.   
  
By the time they arrived most of the family was already seated, with the exception of her grandmother. She knew her well enough to know that she would appear when she wanted to, or not at all. She wasn’t the most fond of Renly. Except for her, however, everyone else was in attendance. Renly was seated at the right hand of her father, her mother on his left. Loras was seated next to Renly, of course, sitting much closer than two men _should_ sit. She wondered if Sansa noticed.   
  
“Lady Margaery!” Renly smiled jubilantly. He stood and made his way to her, taking her hand and kissing it. She smiled. He was charming, if cliche.   
  
“Lord Renly.” She nodded her head, and turned to introduce Sansa. “You haven’t met my lady wife, Lady Sansa of House Stark.”  
  
He smiled warmly. “Lady Sansa,” he took her hand, “you are more beautiful than I ever imagined,” he kissed her hand. Sansa blushed like a maiden on her wedding night.   
  
“Margaery, I believe you did _quite_ well for yourself. Now come and eat! Your father has prepared quite the feast for me.” Renly led them to the table, taking his seat beside Loras. Margaery and Sansa took their seats opposite each other, next to Loras and Willas respectfully.   
  
“Where is your other brother, Garlan?” Renly asked, popping a grape into his mouth. “He was here last time I came.”  
  
“He went back to Brightwater with Leonette some months ago.” Loras told him, leaning into his lover. Margaery kicked his leg under the table and motioned towards Sansa. Her brother nodded and began to keep more of a respectable distance. _I love him, but what a fool he is._  
  
“He is due to return in the next few weeks.” Willas said. He was much closer to Garlan than she or Loras, and kept in touch with him most.   
  
Renly hummed. “The last time we saw each other he beat me in a joust. I don’t intend to let him keep the win.”  
  
“He may not give up so easily,” Loras told him, and the conversation descended into a mock fight over who was the better jouster.   
  
Margaery chose to watch her wife instead of Renly. She was far more interesting than him besides, though once in a while he’d have a good story to tell. He recounted many of the same stories he’d told her to Sansa, who listened to him like he was the only storyteller in Westeros. Her eyes lit up every time he mentioned something heroic; her mouth would widen, her cheeks flushed, mirth bubbled from her lips as sweet as a honeysuckle.   
  
In that moment a surge of love ran through her and Margaery vowed that she would never cause Sansa to lose that happiness. She wanted her to stay like that forever, sweet and kind and _happy_ , happy above all things.   
  
It wasn’t until Sansa was yawning that Margaery decided to retire. Renly and Loras were still happily talking and laughing, but Willas and her parents had already made their departure. She escorted her wife out of the room, Sansa saying her goodbyes to the two men and stumbling upstairs on Margaery’s arm.  
  
Her wife fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, only bothering to unlace her dress halfway before falling into bed. Margaery smiled, blowing out the candles on her side and changing into a nightgown. She settled into bed, gazing at her wife’s sleeping form draped across their bed.  
  
Her wife. The corner of her mouth turned up at the thought. Her grandmother had told her that she was basically useless except for her name, but Margaery disagreed. Though her grandmother believed that a woman was useless unless she was shrewdly intelligent, knew how to use the weapon between her legs, or both, she was wrong. She’d taken one look at Sansa and decided she was nothing but a stupid little girl, but that wasn’t true. There were different kinds of intelligence, and weapons and strengths. Sansa was naive, but she was smart. She was kind, but she was the type of kind that would make men fall at her feet for a single sweet glance from her. And she was good, truly good. She was still a child in many ways and had flaws, but she had good intentions and a good heart. Her smile fell from her face. _She is nothing like me._   
  
She smiled softly in her sleep and Margaery wondered what she was dreaming of. She tucked a loose lock of her hair behind her ear, running her fingers down her cheek and smiling softly. How was it that this girl, this Northern girl who was nothing like her in any way, managed to make her heart flutter like a gentle maid? Perhaps she’d answered her own question, she thought with a tender smile.   
  
Margaery pulled up the covers, and after while managed to doze off into a light sleep.   
  
She woke to the sound of haggard breathing, fearful and heavy. She opened her eyes to see Sansa sitting above her, eyes wide and terrified. She bolted upright, arms instantly wrapping themselves around her wife who collapsed into her.  
  
“Sansa? Sansa, my love, what’s happened?” Fear coursed through her.  
  
Sansa did not respond for several moments, just clinging to her like she was the only thing in this world. Her heart was beating out of her chest.   
  
“I dreamt terrible things, horrible things.” Sansa whispered, as if she were afraid that if she said the words too loud they’d come true.   
  
“Hush, my love, it was just a dream.” Margaery pet her hair, pulling her close to her. _What did she dream?_  
  
Even quieter she said, “It wasn’t a dream. It was _real_.”  
  
Margaery was confused, but she quieted it, focusing only on her wife. “Sansa, my sweet, I promise it was just a dream. You’re here, in our bed, safe. Nothing will hurt you here.”  
  
Her wife’s breathing was becoming regular again, a sign that Margaery’s words were having some effect.  
  
“Here, my love, lay back down. No harm will come to you here.” Sansa laid back down, curled into Margaery’s side and soon was sleeping again like nothing had happened.   
  
Sleep did not come so easily to her. She lay awake for hours after that. _What could she have dreamed that scared her so?_ _  
_  
Her wolf came into their room when the sun’s rays were just beginning to shine through the curtains. Margaery’s heart stopped at the sight of her. She was noticeably limping and covered with mud or blood, or both. Before she could stop her she climbed onto the bed, settled down and began cleaning herself. When she was done she lay her head down on Sansa’s legs and fell asleep.  
  
She looked from the wolf to her sleeping wife, one thought running through her mind.  
  
 _What happened to both of you this night?_ __  
  
It didn’t stop there. Sansa woke not too long after, blinking up at Margaery with sweet, happy eyes.  
  
“No more bad dreams?” Margaery asked, trying her best to speak without fear. Sansa’s pretty face scrunched up into confusion.  
  
“I didn’t dream anything last night.” Margaery’s heart stopped as she stared down at her pretty young wife. She forced a smile.   
  
“You seemed upset.” If she doesn’t remember it, there’s no point in dredging it up.   
  
Sansa waved it away. “If so I don’t remember it now, so no harm done.” She didn’t bother to overthink things when she wasn’t quite awake, which Margaery was happy about.   
  
No harm done indeed, Margaery thought, glancing towards Lady at the end of the bed.   
  
“Shall we break our fast? I’m positively starving.” Sansa got up out of bed and stretched before making her way to the table. Lady jumped off the bed and followed her. It was perfectly normal, except for one thing:  
  
Lady was no longer limping. It was in that moment Margaery knew there was more to her wife and her mysterious direwolf than previously thought.   
  
“Margaery? Are you not hungry?” She’d been staring off into space.   
  
She put on a smile. “I’m coming my love.” It’d all just been some terrible dream, she tried to fool herself. Too much wine at dinner, that was it. She stilled her nervous heart and swung out of bed, smiling as she joined her wife for breakfast.


	19. SANSA XIV

Margaery had looked a little upset when they’d woken up that morning but had quickly gone back to her happy, charming self so Sansa thought nothing of it, and they went about their week.

The week Renly spent at Highgarden was the busiest week of Sansa’s life. The charming Baratheon constantly dragged Sansa and Margaery around and about the castle, whether they be hawking, sailing or riding - Renly did it all and he did it much better than Sansa did. She spent the whole week struggling to keep up with her wife, her brother and the storm lord. She didn’t mind that much, though. Renly (as he insisted he call her, if he could call her Sansa) never failed to make her feel better about her incompetencies, just as much as her lady wife did. 

When Renly began asking them questions about their relationship while out on a mid-morning ride Loras shot daggers at him, but Margaery assured him it was fine. 

“This was an arranged marriage, yes?” Renly asked, sliding down off his horse and leading it to water. 

Margaery had been helping Sansa down off her horse when he asked this. “Yes.”

“Why?”

Sansa just looked at him. “Why was it arranged?” She looked at Margaery, then back to Renly. “Well, because our fathers arranged it.”

“ _ Renly _ .” Loras stressed, looking between him and the two women.

“No, it’s fine.” Margaery waved a hand.  

“Pardon me if I’m prying, but if a Stark-Tyrell alliance was wanted, why wasn’t a marriage arranged between Sansa and Willas, or even Loras?”

That pit of unease in her stomach she’d come to know so well returned. She’d never given much thought to it - she had just accepted it and now she couldn’t imagine what her life would be like if their marriage hadn’t happened. She stole a glance at Margaery who seemed just as uneasy. 

Renly seemed to notice that he’d made  _ both _ of them uncomfortable and quickly changed the subject. They spoke no more of that for the rest of that for the rest of Renly’s visit, but the question still remained. 

“How is King’s Landing?” Margaery asked a while later, when they were returning to Highgarden. Renly was King Robert’s master of laws.

“No different from the stinking pie it usually is.” Renly obviously didn’t care much for the subject, but he  _ did _ enjoy talking about himself. Which is exactly what he did. 

He loved to go on and on about himself, she learned. Despite that, though, she did enjoy the storm lord. He was one of the first people to not be explicitly against her marriage. It was a nice change from others, lords and smallfolk alike, who’d looked at her with disdain and pity. 

On the last night of Renly’s stay the four plus Willas were sitting around a table in Renly’s room, sharing food and drink. 

“How’s the capital?” Willas asked, but this time Renly had an actual answer.

The candles seemed to grow dimmer as he leaned in. “Between the five of us,” he lowered his voice to near a whisper, “things are not well.”

Willas’ eyebrows furrowed, and Sansa saw Margaery flick her eyes up. “In what way?”

“King Robert cares for nothing but news of the Targaryens across the sea and leaves the running of the realm to Jon Arryn, who, and this  _ cannot _ leave this room, but he may be close to death.”

“Close to death?” Loras asked, while Willas said, “He is an old man.”

“But healthy, I fear.”

“You fear?” Margaery stared directly at him.

“That’ll make it all the more obvious when the queen kills him.”

“That won’t happen-” “That’s ridiculous, even for Cersei-” “Why would the queen have him killed?” The last one was Margaery. 

“It’s not as ridiculous as you might think, see, our gracious lord Hand has discovered something that would ruin this monarchy and the queen if it ever came to light.” Renly stared directly at her. Sansa felt like she wasn’t supposed to be there.

“What is it, Renly?” Willas had grown serious.

“If I tell you, all of you are in danger.” He turned again to Sansa. “It would perhaps be better if you didn’t hear this, my lady.”

“No.” Sansa and Margaery said in unison, with Sansa continuing, “I can keep a secret.”

“My lady, you have a gentle heart, I wouldn’t want this to disturb you-”

“Renly, my wife may have a gentle heart but she is no fragile little bird.” Margaery said, voice quiet but strong. Sansa smiled at her, and grasped for her hand under the table.

“This piece of information changes the entire game, my friends.” 

“Dammit Renly, just say it!” Loras grew red with anger.

Renly clasped his hands together and leaned forward. “The queen’s children are not the king’s.”

Silence fell across the room as the four pondered what he’d said.  _ Not the king’s? Then that means . . . _ she thought of sweet Princess Myrcella, with her blonde curls and pretty green eyes, and then sweet little Prince Tommen, always chasing after his cats. Lastly she thought of Joffrey, heir to the Iron Throne, mean and horrid.  _ Of course they aren’t King Robert’s children _ , she realized with a start. She felt a queer sort of happiness at the thought. She was happy the princess, her friend, wasn’t the daughter of that old fat king. But if they weren’t his children . . . then King Robert didn’t have any trueborn children, there was no heir to the throne. Sansa’s head started swimming. The room stayed silent for the longest time, but it was Margaery who spoke first.

“Then who’s children are they?” All eyes turned to her, and then to Renly.

He paused for a moment, wringing his hands together. “The Kingslayer’s.”

The room gasped in shock. “Her twin?” “That’s impossible.” “The queen wouldn’t-” “Renly, how do you know this is true?”

The last one was again Margaery. “I went to pay a call to our dear queen and outside her chambers I heard something rather odd. I walked away, far enough so that I could see the door but that none could see me. A few moments later, Jaime Lannister himself walked out of her rooms looking rather disheveled.”

Margaery was skeptical as always, and so was Sansa. “That doesn’t mean he’s the father - there may be hope for the monarchy yet.”

“No, sweet rose, I’m afraid that it is true. None of the children look even remotely like Robert, and the Baratheon look is strong. If Cersei’s children were my true niece and nephews I believe they’d have some Baratheon resemblance.”

The table fell silent again.

“Then Robert has no true heirs.” Loras said.

“Not true.” Renly was quick to answer. “He has me.”

“You’re forgetting Stannis.” Willas pointed out.

“Stannis rots away on Dragonstone. Besides, he would make a horrible king.”

“But he  _ is _ your elder brother, and by all rights next-in-line unless Robert has a trueborn child.” Willas argued. Renly stood, kicking out the chair behind him.

“Everyone here knows I would make a better king than Stannis.” 

“Renly,” at the sound of Margaery’s voice the room quieted again. “Are you telling us this to inform us that King Robert needs a new wife or to gain our support backing you as Robert’s heir?”

Renly stared at her for the longest time, neither breaking their gaze. “I’m telling you all this because we will need all the help we can get in the wars to come.”

Margaery stared at him a moment longer. “I appreciate the knowledge, but I believe it’s time for me and my lady wife to retire for the evening.”

Renly gave a curt nod of his head. Margaery extended her hand and Sansa took it. The two stood and walked out of the room.

“Don’t say anything until we return to our chambers.” Margaery whispered in her ear. When they did get back she locked all the doors and closed the shutters.

Margaery rubbed her face in her hands. “I can’t believe him!”

Sansa was still trying to process everything and sat down at their table. Margaery began pacing.

“Sansa, do you know what he’s asking?”

She nodded, and Margaery said it anyway. “He wants us to help him war with the Lannisters, for gods’ sake! He’s going to start a bloody war just because he wants to be king! What a bloody idiot!”

“Margaery, my love, please, it may not even come to that, just sit.” Margaery huffed but sat down beside her. Sansa didn’t know what to say.

“It  _ will _ come to war, one way or another. If Renly knows then Jon Arryn is sure to find out soon - he’s honorable, he’ll try and tell Robert and he’ll be killed for it. If Robert finds out Cersei and her children will be executed immediately, and that’ll start a war with Casterly Rock. If he doesn’t find out . . . I don’t know what’ll happen.”

Sansa took this all in. This wasn’t like all the stories she’d heard as a child . . . those stories had happy endings. She was afraid this one wasn’t going to end so well. 

“It may not even come to that, Margaery.” Sansa took her hand in her own. “We have to keep faith that this will not be as it seems.”

Margaery gave her a weak smile. “Oh, my love . . . I’m afraid it already is.”


	20. MARGAERY III

Margaery woke with her arms wrapped around Sansa’s, as had quickly become their custom over the past few weeks. Her wife was nestled into her side, fast asleep, and she had to decide whether to wait however long for her wife to wake or risk disturbing her. In the end, she didn’t have to decide.

Sansa’s blue eyes blinked sleepily up at her, muttering something that sounded like ‘good morning’ before she burrowed herself back into Margaery’s side. She let out a soft laugh and was about to respond when there was a rap at the door.

“Enter.” She called and a maid entered, bearing a plate of food. 

“Lady Margaery, Lady Sansa,” she greeted. Sansa opened her eyes again. “Your lady grandmother requests for you to join her for tea this morning, Lady Margaery.”

“Thank you, tell her I accept.” Her grandmother had been calling on her more and more frequently since Renly’s departure a few weeks ago. She looked out the window - it was nearing midmorning, she’d best go and get up.

She lightly pushed Sansa off of her and got up, stretching as she did so.

“Come back to bed,” Sansa whined, “I’m cold.”

She smiled gently. “Proper ladies rise before midday, my love.” 

Sansa rolled over, pulling the covers up to her chest. “I’m not a proper lady before midday.”

Margaery laughed softly. Sansa had grown into herself here. She was no longer the confused little girl that had come to Highgarden a few months ago, no, she was more confident now. She’d been just a closed-off child, a little girl who’d never left her home but here in Highgarden she was blooming into a woman. 

But becoming a woman came with womanly appetites, she soon noticed. At first it had been quick kisses in the privacy of their rooms, a simple brush of lips - but that turned into more. Whenever they parted, Sansa usually going off with Willas, Margaery going to her grandmother, she’d kiss her in the open regardless of where they were or who they were around. She’d been nervous the first few times, still worried about other people as she was wont to do but she quickly cured her of those fears.  _ Know no shame, my sweet, for love is love _ , she’d told her one evening,  _ and love is nothing to be ashamed of.  _ She had no more qualms after that.

“I believe my cousins requested your presence this morning, darling.” Margaery took a bite of a strawberry. 

“Did they? Did I accept?” Sleepy Sansa was her favorite Sansa.

“Yes, my love.” She slipped on a robe, popping the rest of the strawberry into her mouth. 

Lady came trotting into the room and brushed past Margaery. She hopped onto the bed and settled down next to Sansa. When she’d first come to Highgarden her wife’s wolf had stuck to her side without fail but as the two settled into their new home Lady had strayed farther and farther.  _ At least there’s been no more strange dreams _ , she thought with relief, thinking back to that night near a month ago. 

Margaery ate another strawberry as she headed towards their closet and pulled out a few pieces of clothing. She donned a light blue gown with gold embroidery on the bodice, cinched at the waist with a gold belt carved with roses and vines. Sansa rose to help her lace up the gown and began getting ready as Margaery was headed out the door. Not without a lingering kiss, however. Sansa pulled her wife in for a sweet kiss, telling her she’d see her later this afternoon. She left her with a smile on her lips. Highgarden was good for Sansa.  _ I wonder what she’d be like in Winterfell, surrounded by her family, snowflakes in her hair. . .  _ She made a mental note to bring it up to her at some point. 

She turned down the hall and knocked on the door to her grandmother’s study and half a heartbeat later heard a short “Enter!”. 

Her grandmother was seated in her oak chair, hewn from a tree from the Arbor where she was born. It was decorated in Tyrell fashion, however, with plush green cushions and rose carvings along the back and sides. When she was younger she’d thought it a chair fit for a queen. Now she realized it was a chair for a woman who  _ makes _ queens. 

_ Not anymore _ , she thought, not sure how she felt about the thought. 

“Sit, child.” She sat. 

“More news about Renly?” That’d been the focus of their conversations since the storm lord had left Highgarden.

“Yes, sadly. That fool wouldn’t know subtlety if it smacked him across the face.”

Margaery nodded. “What is it then?”

“You know that Loras left with Renly,” Margaery nodded again.

“They could be a bit less obvious.”

“Loras is your father’s son, gods help him. He wants glory and is determined that Renly will give it to him.” She paused. “It has come to my attention that the two of them are planning a marriage . . .” She looked right at Margaery. 

It took her half a heartbeat to realize. “Grandmother, I am already wed.”

“A shameful marriage, and not able to be consummated.” Margaery was about to argue, but her grandmother was correct. She sat back in her chair. 

“Then who am I to be wedded to?”

“Robert Baratheon.” 

Margaery was incredulous. “King Robert? Grandmother, that’s impossible. He ordered my marriage in the first place, he’s not going to annul it.” She knew the plan was foolish anyway, but she couldn't help wishing against it from the start. 

“Once it comes to light that Cersei’s brood are all bastards Robert will have no choice but to either annul the marriage or execute her. Most likely the latter, knowing our just king. You’re young, come from two fertile lines, and you’re pretty. When you become queen, the  _ first _ Tyrell queen at that, our family will be able to run the Seven Kingdoms, and sweep this shameful marriage under the rug.” The queen of thorns looked at her pleased, waiting for her to agree.

“Grandmother, I - no.”

“No?”

“Sansa, Grandmother, you’re forgetting Sansa.”

“Sansa? The girl’s worth nothing, she’ll go back to where she came from.”

Margaery felt a sudden and fierce burst of anger. “She is  _ not _ worth  _ nothing _ . She is my wife, I swore vows to her, I  _ love _ her-”

“Margaery, it’s a sham marriage, you have to understand . . . you love her?” Her eyebrows furrowed together.

“Yes.” She said without wavering.  _ I love her _ . She felt a tiny thrill at the thought. 

Her grandmother stared at her for the longest time.  _ It must be so strange for her _ , she thought,  _ for the first time we’re not of the same opinion. _ It was strange for her, if she was being honest with herself. 

Her grandmother stroked her chin. “What do you see in her?” It wasn’t an attack, it wasn’t veiled, it was just a simple question. And Margaery knew the answer.

“She’s naive, yes, but she’s not simple-minded. She is kind, and good, and genuine. She believes in other people, wants only the best for them and will do her best to make sure that happens.” She thought of one of the times they’d gone into town. There’d been a man who’s wagon wheel was broken and Sansa, despite having no skill fixing a wagon wheel whatsoever, stayed and got help for the man before even thinking about leaving. Margaery had been so caught up with love for her in that moment she thought her heart would burst. “She has so much potential, Grandmother, she just lacks confidence.”

She looked at Margaery, scrutinizing her. “If you believe in her, then I suppose I have no choice but to trust your judgment. But I ask you one thing: is she worth losing a kingdom over?”

From the time she could walk, Margaery had been trained to play the game. She had learned politics, players and people. She could walk into King’s Landing  _ right now _ and control the city within a fortnight if she wished. For the longest time, she thought that was what she wanted - but it wasn’t. 

“She is.” 

Her grandmother nodded, accepting her answer. “While you wedding Robert would solve many problems for us and the realm, there are other ways we can look out for our own. Cersei Lannister will have to be dealt with another way . . .”. She trailed off into thought for a brief moment. “Anyway, onto more pleasant topics. Your brother Garlan is due to arrive from Brightwater today.”

“Really? I thought he wasn’t due for another few days yet.” Margaery loved her brother and it’d been months since she’d seen him.

“Apparently he’ll be arriving today,” Olenna said with a pointed look at her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” She only looked at her that way when she had something planned. 

“Renly and Loras are set to return in a few weeks, and he is very determined to wed you to his brother, in fact he is pointing Jon Arryn towards Robert’s various bastards - the Old Falcon will catch on soon enough. Garlan will only be staying two weeks at most. You may want to take your lady wife to visit Brightwater, and perhaps Oldtown after that.”

Margaery nodded. “I’ll talk to Garlan.”

Olenna gave her a small smile. “Best be on your way then. I’m a busy woman, and you are busy with your lady wife.”

Margaery smiled. “She is worth it, Grandmother.”

For once she said nothing, so Margaery took her leave. As she left she couldn’t help thinking of Renly, the idiot. The more she thought, the angrier she became. How  _ dare _ he try to sell her off to that old fat king? What right does he have to even  _ think _ of tearing her away from Sansa? The next time she saw him . . . 

She pushed her anger to the side and instead chose to focus on finding her wife. There were things they needed to speak of. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my apologies that this chapter is a bit shorter than others - it's split into two parts, the second of which will be told from Sansa's perspective. i hope you enjoyed and see you next week!
> 
> also update: my tumblr is now @gardensansa if u wanna come chat


	21. SANSA XV

“I’ve heard I’m to be betrothed soon,” Elinor Tyrell leaned in, smiling wide. 

“To who?” Megga asked with bright eyes.

The girls all leaned in to hear, including Sansa. They were gathered under one of the big shady trees in the gardens where a cool breeze would flow through every once in a while. The sunlight shone down through the great tree’s leaves, staining the ground below it with the exquisite shadows. The girls themselves were seated on plush couches decorated with golden roses, as befit the gardens of Highgarden. 

Sansa didn’t spend much time with her wife’s cousins, usually preferring to spend her time with Willas, but there was a certain connection with other women that she needed. Margaery’s cousins were all like her, the way she was back in Winterfell. She both liked them and disliked them for those reasons. But, they accepted her. 

“Alyn Ambrose.” She said the name like it was holy, her eyes lighting up like the nightbugs that flew around the castle gardens at twilight. 

Sansa had never heard of the boy, but joined Megga and Alla in congratulating Elinor.

“I can’t wait till we’ll be wed! He’s so handsome, imagine all the cute little babes we’ll have! But oh, the wedding night! That will be horribly frightening, I’m sure.” She turned towards her. “Sansa, were you nervous?”

While Elinor went on her tirade Sansa had only half paid attention. Elinor reminded her of who she used to be, which she didn’t realize was annoying. Despite that, she was caught off guard by the question.

“Mine was an untraditional wedding, I-”

“Oh Sansa, don’t tease! We all know your handmaidens don’t dress you.” 

Sansa blushed red as a rose. “A lady never dresses and tells.” That sent the girls into a giggling fit. 

“I see my cousins are pestering you again, my love.” Margaery seemed to appear out of nowhere. Sansa spun around, her cheeks already blushing red. The cousins continued giggling, but stopped once Margaery turned her sly smile on them. 

“If you’re quite finished finding out what we do in our bedroom I’d like to take my lady for a walk.” The three smiled knowingly, but Sansa only rolled her eyes and accepted Margaery’s arm. In order to avoid more gossip Sansa waited until they were out of sight to cuddle up to her wife. 

“Your cousins are certainly never boring.” She told Margaery, who laughed gently.

“That’s one way you could say it.” She took a moment to laugh again. “They do appreciate you spending time with them, though.”

Sansa smiled. “They are sweet girls.”  _ If the least bit tiring _ . 

“While my cousins are always an interesting topic of discussion, that’s not what I want to talk to you about.” She adopted the look she had when she was troubled, her eyes narrowing, her lips pressed together. Her eyebrows twitched, and then it was over and she let a small smile creep over her face.

That’d been happening quite a bit over the past few weeks since Renly’s departure. Margaery would seem to be debating on whether or not to tell her something, then end up not telling her. It was frustrating. If she’d wed a man she would expect for him to keep his own secrets, but women always shared everything.  _ Perhaps that’s hypocritical. Everyone has their own secrets _ . She cursed herself for being so stupid. After all, she wasn’t exactly being open with her wife either. 

For weeks now she’d had dreams, dreams that couldn’t be explained. She was a wolf in the night, treading along the walls of Highgarden and beyond. Sometimes the dreams were pleasant. She’d be just walking along in the gardens, sniffing at plants, chasing squirrels - but other times she’d feel  _ hungry _ . She became more animal than human, and it terrified her. But the most curious thing of all was that whatever she did in her dreams Lady would reflect. If she’d been scratched, there’d be a scratch on Lady, if she’d hunted Lady would come back with blood on her muzzle. Her dreams had something to do with Lady, but she was too scared of herself to question it. 

She tightened her hold on Margaery’s arm. “What is it you wanted to talk about then?”

The same look crossed over her wife’s face for a moment before softening again. “My brother Garlan and his wife Leonette are due to arrive today.”

Margaery didn’t speak often of her brother, but from what she’d heard he was a gallant knight, humble and noble. She seemed very fond of him. 

Sansa smiled. “I hope he’s as gallant as I’ve heard.”

“All that and more.” Margaery promised. She paused for a moment. “He’s only staying a week, perhaps two and then returning to Brightwater Keep. I was wondering if you’d like to return with him.”

“Both of us, you mean?” Margaery nodded. Sansa barely thought it over. “That sounds lovely.” But her wife was still hiding something from her.

Sansa changed tactics. “How was tea with your grandmother?”

“Pleasant enough.” She didn’t elaborate. Margaery had adopted a distant look once she spoke of it, so she decided to drop the subject. There was always the small chance that she’d say too much or push too far and Margaery would push her away. 

She brought her back to reality with a gentle kiss. Margaery took only the briefest of moments to respond, leaning into the kiss and pressing her body against hers. Her plan worked, and soon enough they’d found some corner in the gardens where no one could see them. They’d fallen into this routine over the past few days - if they weren’t busy and had an afternoon to themselves they’d find some private corner and disappear into each other. Margaery’s lips were just the same as the rest of her - she couldn’t get enough. Her lips, her hands, her curves, it didn’t matter, she was insatiable. 

Both of them were afraid to go to the next step, and it would usually be Margaery who pulled away first. It was the same way today.

“Come, my love, we don’t want my brother to see us like this.” She seemed more herself now, and smiled as she took her wife’s arm. They rushed back to their rooms, getting as clean as possible. It was just in time, too, for as soon as they were ready Palla came into the room to tell them Garlan had arrived. 

“Do you think he’ll like me?” Sansa asked. Her old insecurities were creeping back. 

Margaery smiled, pulling her into her. “He’ll love you.” She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “Shall we go?”

They met Garlan and Leonette in the same courtyard where Sansa had first laid eyes on Margaery. 

Garlan truly was gallant. He looked near identical to his brother Loras, except that his hair was darker and a full beard adorned his handsome face. He smiled at his family as he approached, his lady wife on her horse next to him. He dismounted gracefully and went immediately to assist Leonette. She was just as beautiful as her husband. Her hair was a chestnut brown and fell down her back in shiny waves. She was dainty and bright-eyed, and it was clear that her husband loved her fiercely. 

Garlan approached his brother first, wrapping Willas in a tight hug. “Brother,” he said, his voice deep and pleasant, “it’s been too long.”

Willas nodded. “Indeed. Did you get lost on the way here?”

He laughed. “I may have, if it hadn’t been for Leonette. She has more of a mind for maps than I do.” He stepped aside to let Leonette greet Willas. Garlan went on to greet his father and mother before moving to Margaery, scooping his little sister up into a big hug. 

“Garlan, let me down!” Margaery cried, laughing all the while. He put her down after a fashion. 

“You’re a woman wed now, little sister. When did that happen?” He teased, and glanced towards Sansa, who had moved a couple steps away. Her wife extended her hand and Sansa took it, stepping up beside her. She curtsied politely.

Garlan waved a hand. “No need for all that, you’re my goodsister. Margaery, you didn’t tell me your wife was this beautiful.”

“You would’ve known if you hadn’t been gallivanting around the Reach with your lady wife.” Margaery teased back, but it was all in good fun. 

Garlan laughed again. “I believe we are at an impasse, dear sister.” He then turned to Sansa. “My lady, I have heard of you through letter but I must admit you are even lovelier in person.”

Sansa smiled. He was truly gallant. “You are too kind.”

“My own lady wife, Leonette of House Fossoway.” Leonette nodded politely. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Lady Sansa.” Her voice was light and musical.

“The pleasure is mine, Lady Leonette.” She liked her. She was the type of lady she’d always dreamed of being. 

Garlan clapped his hands together. “Now that all that’s out of the way, where’s this feast I was promised?”

 

* * *

 

It was late when the two finally returned to their chambers. Garlan was even more talkative than Renly, though the conversation was a thousand times better. He was constantly telling outrageous tales, or jokes, or whatever came to his mind, but he made sure to include everybody in his fun. He was enjoyable and easy to talk to, just like his brother and sister. Best of all, he didn’t bat an eye about their marriage. Leonette was the opposite of her husband in some respects, she was quiet and ladylike, but still very warm and friendly. She promised to teach Sansa the high harp.

Even Olenna was warm towards her grandson. The Queen of Thorns hardly ever showed any sort of pleasantness, but tonight she was less so her thorny self and more of a grandmother. She was even pleasant to Sansa. However, she spent most of her time focusing on Garlan, asking about the upkeep of Brightwater, trouble with the tenants and such. Mace would try to but in from time to time, but Olenna would always shut him up. Sansa didn’t dare laugh. Garlan answered all his grandmother’s questions, with Willas asking all the questions she did not. By the time the interrogation was over it’d grown late into the evening.

“When are you planning on leaving?” Margaery had asked, taking a sip of wine.

“Tired of me already?” Garlan had laughed.

Margaery had smiled. “Quite the opposite, actually.” She placed her hand atop Sansa’s. “Sansa and I were hoping you would host us at Brightwater.”

“Dear sister, you don’t even need to ask. Leonette and I would be more than happy to have you.” He’d reached for his own wife’s hand. “We’ll stay through the harvest festival and depart after that.”

Margaery had nodded, and shared a look with her grandmother that Sansa only just caught. Her wife was keeping something from her, that was for certain. But what?

They retired not too long after that and quietly got dressed for bed. Margaery was far away again, deep in thought. Sansa studied her, a million questions running through her mind. After what felt like hours, she had to say something. 

“Margaery?” Her wife was pulling back the sheets to get into bed, but turned around when she heard her name.

“Yes, my sweet?”

Her wife looked so young and innocent there in her nightdress, with the candlelight glowing softly on her sweet face and every question she had melted away.

She shook her head. “Nothing.” She said, and got into bed alongside her wife. 

Margaery blew out the candles a moment later, but neither of them drifted off into sleep for a long time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some of you may have noticed that i'm updating a day late. i've changed my updates from sunday to monday since i'm back in school now. i'm about to be super busy so i may have to change updates to every two weeks but i'll let y'all know in advance if that happens. thank you so much!


	22. SANSA XVI

Sansa woke to Margaery gently kissing her cheek, and an invitation to dine with her mother and Leonette. 

“Are you serious?” Sansa’s sleepy mind couldn’t wrap around it, especially since Alerie Hightower had never taken the slightest interest in her. She was an imposing woman who had always looked at Sansa with a mix of disdain and disbelief, as if she couldn’t imagine her presence. 

“Yes, my love.” Margaery’s voice gave nothing away about her own opinion of it. Sansa absentmindedly fingered her wedding ring. If she had to guess Margaery was somewhat happy that her mother had asked her such, though she suspected it was Leonette’s doing. 

Garlan and Leonette had been in Highgarden for only a few days, but in that time they’d been extraordinarily kind to her. Leonette had all the grace of a queen and Garlan was the truest knight she’d ever met. In short, they were wonderful. 

Leonette, Sansa learned, had an inept ability at getting people to do good. She’d already softened the Queen of Thorns, and Mace was simply happy that he’d made a good match for his son. Alerie Hightower, Lady of Highgarden was a different sort. Though she had the title, she did not have the influence, and Sansa suspected that she was bitter about that. She’d played no part in Garlan’s marriage, and had outright opposed Margaery’s. Though all of her children loved her and spent a fair amount of time with her, Willas was the only one who was particularly close to her and the other Hightowers. In the months that Garlan and Leonette had been wed the Fossoway had also managed to sneak into her goodmother’s good graces, and now she was trying to get Sansa the same. 

“Will you be joining us?” Sansa propped herself up on an arm.

Margaery turned away, going to the table where a tray of food had been set up for them. “I’m afraid not. Willas and Garlan have requested my presence.”

“Your presence to do what?”

“They were vague on that subject.” She twitched a brow. 

Sansa huffed. “They would be.” Now she was sure this was all Leonette’s doing. 

“Perhaps it’s a good thing. You’ve said you’d like to get closer to my mother, haven’t you?” She knew this trick. 

“When we were first wed, perhaps, but I was naive then.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t ‘oh’ me. The point is that your mother hates me and now I have to go dine with her.”

“Sansa, sweet,” Margaery sat down on the bed. “My mother doesn’t hate you - she just doesn’t know you. Give her this chance. And Leonette will be there too, if anything she can help.”

Sansa felt like pouting, but she kept her lip tucked in. “She’ll still hate that we’re married.”

“Yes, but,” she pressed a quick kiss to her lips, “there’s nothing she can do about that.”

* * *

Alerie Hightower sat straight-backed and tall, not bothering to try and hide her glower. Her long gray hair fell down her back in a tight braid, not a hair out of place. Her dress was smoothed to perfection and matched the storm-grey color of her eyes and her house. Cold dignity radiated off of her.

Leonette, on the other hand, was as warm and friendly as a woman could possibly be. She was seated between Sansa and Alerie, and doing her best to promote a neutral conversation. However, she’d speak a few words and one of them would respond to her, usually Alerie. Sansa was afraid that if she said anything that disagreed with her goodmother she’d become even more hated. 

Leonette was having none of it. All of a sudden she threw her hands in the air and jumped out of her chair. “You are mother and daughter by law! And yet you do not see fit to tolerate one another!?”

Sansa was shocked at her outburst, and it was obvious Alerie was as well. 

She stood, face turning red. “I am the Lady of Highgarden, and you will  _ not _ speak to me in that manner!” Her words cut Sansa to the bone, and they weren’t even directed at her. 

“You are also a  _ mother _ , to not one but  _ three _ daughters, and I will not stand for you to treat my sister in this way because she is married to your daughter!” 

“How dare you speak to me in that tone!”

“Please, stop!” Sansa stood, slapping her hand down on the table. She took a moment to compose herself and let out a breath. 

“I cannot bear to cause either of you any strife, especially when I am the conflict over which you argue.” She took another breath. “Leonette, I appreciate what you’ve tried to do, but this is something between me and Lady Alerie.” She waited for Leonette to nod before she turned to her goodmother. “Lady Alerie, I know you had high hopes for your daughter in marriage, and I am sorry that I have disappointed you in that regard. I can never remedy that. For better or for worse, I am your daughter’s wife, and your gooddaughter. I know you hate me for that, but I’m hopeful that in the future we’ll be able to have the type of relationship you and Leonette share. For the sake of your daughter, I pray we have that relationship. Until then, however, I will continue as I am.” Sansa bowed her head, turned around and left the room, trying her hardest to keep the tears from falling. 

* * *

Margaery didn’t return to their chambers until late afternoon, and entered to find it dark and solemn. Sansa had wanted it that way. She wanted to hide from the world for at least a little while, hide from the shame of her words.

“Sansa, dear?” She made a small noise to let her know she was there. 

She heard another confused “Sansa?” and then she was by her side. She was completely under the covers with only the top strands of her hair poking out the top. She felt Margaery stir for a moment, and before she knew it her wife was climbing under the covers with her. In the confined space she had no choice but to look on her wife’s soft features. 

Margaery’s lips dropped into a frown at Sansa’s expression. “Your talk with my mother didn’t go well?” She wasn’t sure if it was more question or answer, but she just nodded. 

Her wife’s hand came up to cup her cheek, rubbing her thumb along the smooth skin. “Don’t worry too much, my love. I love my mother, but you are my wife. Nothing she can say or do will ever change that, or what I feel for you.”

Sansa looked down, but leaned into Margaery’s touch all the same. 

“Margaery?” She said quietly, barely above a whisper. 

“Yes, my sweet?” Her thumb brushed just against the edge of her eye. She pushed her forehead against hers, closing her eyes. 

“I love you.” 

She felt Margaery smile. “I love you too, my wolf.”

She breathed deeply and her wife pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth.  _ I love you _ , she thought, edging closer to press her body against hers.  _ I’ve made so many mistakes, but being with you isn’t one of them.  _ She thought again of Alerie and her disapproval. She knew it would constantly be a sore spot for her and her wife, but she couldn’t change this. 

“I love you,” she repeated, reaching up to kiss her wife. 

* * *

Sansa sat at her desk, reading through some letters she’d received from her family. Her mother always wrote her the most, in both frequency and words, but she would never complain. She missed her terribly. In this letter, that feeling only intensified. Her fifteenth nameday was soon, just a few days away. Her family had all sent her letters, and promised that presents were following soon. She’d written back saying that she looked forward to whatever they sent, but that she had everything she needed in their letters.

“Sansa?” Margaery called. 

“In here, love.” A moment later her wife’s arms were on her shoulders and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. 

“How was lunch with your mother and grandmother?” 

“Oh, fine. How has your day been?” Margaery brushed over that quick enough, she noticed. 

“Willas took me down to the stables to take a look at his new litter of pups. They’re the cutest little things Marg, you wouldn’t believe.” Her wife smiled at that. “And now I’m just answering some letters from my family.”

“How are they?” Margaery never commented on her family much, so Sansa was just a bit caught off guard. 

“They’re well.” She paused for a moment, letting a smile come to her face. “Mother keeps trying to keep Bran from climbing, but an hour after she reprimands him he’s back on top of some building or another. Arya, apparently, is also being something of a bother. Last week she snuck out of Winterfell in the night to go to the Wolfswood with her direwolf, and didn’t leave a note! She came back midmorning covered in leaves and twigs and mud - Mother had a fit, and Father wasn’t too happy either, but Mother says he laughed about it.” She chuckled, then grew a bit solemn. She turned around, placing her hand on her wife’s. “Is it possible we may visit Winterfell soon? Not immediately of course, but after we return from Brightwater perhaps? My family is dying to meet you.”

“I can’t see why not. It is a long journey, though.” 

“Over land, yes, but we could travel by sea.” She stopped for a second and smiled. “I’d like to see you on a ship.”

“Is that so?” The corners of her mouth turned up,and she leaned in.

“Very much so.” Sansa grinned, tilting her head up to meet her lips. The kiss lasted only a second, however.

“What’s this about your nameday?” Margaery pulled away suddenly and reached for the letter. Sansa looked away while she looked at it. “Sansa, your nameday is in four days and you didn’t bother to  _ tell _ anybody?”

“I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, especially after that mess with your mother.” She said sheepishly. That wasn’t the truth, though. She  _ did _ want to make a big fuss out of it, but in Winterfell, with her family. She loved Margaery, and she accepted her family, even loved some of them, but there were too many who had little regard for her, and would prefer her rather not be there. If her and Margaery hadn’t cared for each other she’d be a complete outcast here, alone except for Willas. 

“Sansa, it’s your  _ nameday _ ! Don’t worry about my mother, or anyone! I love you, and I want you to celebrate your nameday with joy.” Margaery put the letter back on the desk and took Sansa’s hands in her own. 

“I don’t want to overstep . . .” 

“Sansa, don’t be ridiculous. This is your home too, and you have the right to celebrate your nameday in your home.” She said it firmly, with no room for argument.

“Despite all that, I don’t want to make a big fuss. When we go to Winterfell we can do it properly there.” 

“Well we have to do  _ something _ on the actual day.” Sansa opened her mouth to argue, but Margaery interjected before she could say anything. “Let me plan it. I promise it’ll be small and simple, and without my grandmother or my parents.”

“If you insist.” She had to admit she was charmed at her efforts, and pulled her in for a kiss.

“I do, very much.” Margaery said, and kissed her again. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some nameday celebrations to prepare.”

She turned around, silencing Sansa’s next question. “I promise I won’t go crazy.” She smiled and just like that she was gone again, just as quick as she came. Sansa turned back to her letter, happy to tell her mother both of her wife’s endeavors and her forthcoming trip home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my apologies for the late update, things have been quite hectic :) updates are moving to every other monday, and i'm promising both you and myself that i will write this. thank you for all the support with this story and all the lovely comments, they absolutely make my day :)


	23. MARGAERY IV

She’d been running around all morning trying to get everything in perfect order. She’d somehow managed to sneak out of bed without Sansa noticing (or rather, Lady noticing), gotten dressed, ran to the kitchens, ran out to the gardens, then to Willas, followed by another run to the kitchens and finally back to her rooms. She thanked the gods that Sansa was a late sleeper. 

“Now’s the hard part.” She whispered to herself, tip-toeing to the bed. 

Her wife was not the easiest to get out of bed. In fact, Margaery had never met anyone who’d take so long to get up as her red-headed wife. Sucking in a deep breath she sat on the bed and pressed her hand to Sansa’s cheek. 

“Good morning my love.” She brushed her cheek with her thumb. Sansa stirred, raising a hand to meet hers. She made a sleepy contented noise and dropped her hand, but leaned into Margaery’s. 

“Happy nameday.” She smiled, softly pressing a kiss to her nose.

“Nameday?” Sansa murmured. She saw her eyes shift under her eyelids and her eyebrows furrow. Her eyes popped open. “Nameday?” She said with more urgency, like she’d finally realized what the word meant.

Margaery laughed a bit. “Yes, my wolf.”

A smile drifted across her lips, sleepy and satisfied.

“I’ve got quite the day planned, my love,” she said, brushing away a stray piece of hair. 

“That so? But does it have to start so early?”

“It’s nearly midmorning, love. When were you planning on starting the day?”

“Noon, at the earliest.” She’d opened her eyes by now, blinking up at Marg with a cheeky smile. 

“But then you’ll miss the breakfast I made.”

Sansa lazily opened an eye. “You made?”

“Well, perhaps ‘made’ is a strong word to use.”

“Mm-hmm.” She took a moment to turn over and sit up. “Since I’m awake I might as well eat this breakfast you ‘made’.”

It was quite a breakfast. Highgarden apples, Tyroshi oranges, lemons from the banks of the Mander, and her personal favorite - Dornish plums. Not to mention her favorite cheeses and bread so light it seemed to melt in her mouth. 

“Margaery,” she said, her mouth stuffed, “where did you find all of this?”

“Oh, you know, I just went out to the orchards and picked what I thought you’d like - oh, and I went to Tyrosh for the oranges.” She grinned cheekily.

“You’re a fool, Margaery Tyrell.” Sansa laughed, taking a bite of a Dornish plum. “And I suppose you went to Dorne too, for the plums?”

“Heavens no. They had those in the kitchen.” Sansa laughed heartily and kissed her wife.

“I love it.” She breathed between kisses, smiling all the time. They fell onto the bed, blissfully wrapped up in each other, kissing without urgency, only happily. They stayed like that for a while, happily wrapped up in each other and exchanging soft happy kisses. The morning light was streaming through their bedroom window, cascading softly down onto them, and they were both happy. 

"Come my love," Margaery said, pressing a kiss to Sansa's head. "I have so much more planned."

"You told me this was going to be a quiet day. I am happy here, with you." Sansa was curled into her side, her head resting in the crook of her neck.

"Don't you want your presents?" 

"You're everything I need." She grinned.

"Sansa, I know you're sweet, but I did actually plan things." Margaery said, half-exasperated and half in love with her wife.

Sansa laughed. "Alright, then, what's all this you've got in store?"

"Get dressed and I'll show you."

Margaery helped her wife up and followed her to the closet, where the first present was. She watched her sleepy wife roll out of bed and stretch, smiling at Margaery. 

"What dress should I wear today? Are we going to go outside, or is this a more formal occasion?" Sansa asked, turning around to ask her wife while she opened the closet door.

"Why don't you take a look and you'll see." Sansa looked confused but turned around, where a dress of purple silk hung. It was the perfect mix between Northern fashion and Southern fashion, and Margaery had taken extra care to make sure every detail was correct. It was long and flowing, but made with a light fabric for the climate. A belt cinched the dress at the waist. The sleeves were long but light, not quite see-through, but were done in the Northern fashion with hanging sleeves. The bodice wasn't as tight as most Southern dresses, but still showed her figure, and was decorated in the Southern way with gold embroidery.

"Marg, it's gorgeous!" Sansa said, gathering the fabric into her hands. "Are you saying that this was made in four days?"

"I was already working on it, or rather, the seamstresses were, but I had them speed up the process for your nameday."

"Oh, Marg, I love it! Thank you!" She hugged her tightly. "Here, help me get into it."

Sansa looked even better in it than she'd thought. She'd already planned on it not fitting properly yet, but the seamstresses had done a fantastic job. Sansa twirled in it, laughing joyously. 

"Come, my love," Margaery said, extending her arm, "I've got so much more to show you."

They walked arm-in-arm out to the family sitting room, where Willas, Garlan and Leonette were sitting and chatting. Leonette was the first to see them, standing up and embracing Sansa. "Happy nameday!"

"Happy nameday!" Willas and Garlan echoed, also standing up. 

"What's all this?" Sansa happily embraced them, but Margaery knew she hadn't known anyone else was going to be involved for her nameday celebrations.

"We got you presents, of course." Leonette said. "Every girl deserves something special for her nameday, but it seems as though you've already gotten one of them."

Her wife fingered the dress in her hands, smiling. "Marg has been spoiling me."

"I'm sure that isn’t the last time she's going to spoil you." Garlan laughed with a look at his sister. Margaery glared back at him, but then laughed. 

"Is it a crime for a wife to celebrate her bride's nameday?" Marg teased, pressing a quick kiss to her wife’s cheek. Sansa blushed, as she knew she would, but Margaery only pulled her closer to her.

“Now, I know you said you didn’t want a big celebration, but once I told these three that your nameday was today they  _ insisted _ on getting you presents.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” Sansa said shyly, but Margaery could tell she appreciated it. 

“Come, sit down.” Leonette guided her to a chair, and Willas presented his gift first.

Sansa went into it with glee, carefully taking off the wrapping. “Books? Wait, no, songs! This is music!” She opened up the first book to reveal pages and pages of sheet music.

“Look at the second book.” Willas gestured. Sansa opened this one next.

“Stories! All my favorite stories!” She clutched the volume to her chest. “Willas, you shouldn’t have!”

“It was nothing, Sansa. They’ll do you much better than they could ever do me.” Sansa hugged Willas tightly.

“I will treasure them forever.” She vowed, setting them aside neatly.

Garlan was next. “I’m not sure I can follow up Willas’ gift, but I do hope you appreciate this, my lady.” It was a cloak of deep Tully blue, rich and fine. It clasped together with a gray rose brooch.

“Oh my,” Sansa breathed, feeling the fabric, “I adore it.”

“I’ve heard some whispers from the Citadel that autumn will soon be upon us, and I thought that you’d need a cloak. It also has pockets.”

There were pockets, hidden deep in the thick fabric. “I love it, Garlan,” she said, meeting his eyes with a smile. “Thank you.”

“Anything for my goodsister.” He said, sitting back down. 

“I suppose that just leaves me.” Leonette said. “I’m afraid my gift is a bit too big to wrap, but it’s just in here.”

“Oh?” Sansa said, taking Leonette’s outstretched hand and following her into the adjoining room. Willas, Garlan and Margaery all heard Sansa’s gasp of excitement. They took only the briefest of moments to share a look with one another before they followed. 

“I love it Leonette!” Sansa was already running towards her gift, the high harp Leonette had promised to teach her to play. 

And what a harp it was. Standing near four feet tall, with fresh new golden strings, and beautiful designs decorating the wood. 

“If you’d like I can start teaching you tomorrow.”

“Oh, please!” Sansa seemed on the cusp of begging if Leonette would deny her.

“Of course, sweet goodsister.” Sansa hugged her tightly, thanking her again. She went on to thank Willas and Garlan for their presents again.

“We all know Margaery’s got much more planned, but I’m sure we’ll see you tonight at supper. Happy nameday Sansa.” Leonette said this, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she did so.

Margaery extended her arm and Sansa took it, so off they went. Margaery led her out to Willas’ ‘animal farm’ as it had been dubbed, where he kept his dogs and horses and hawks and any other animal he decided was worth his time. 

“Here, love, close your eyes and hold out your hands.” Margaery said, leaving her at the entrance.

“Marg?” She laughed a little out of curiosity, but did as she'd asked. 

Margaery turned back as she went into the building, looking at her wife smiling with her eyes closed and hands outstretched. She smiled herself as she went to go get the presents. 

She placed one little squirming bundle into her wife's hand. "What is this?" Sansa laughed.

"Open your eyes and see." Sansa squealed. "A puppy! Margaery, a puppy! Oh, look how cute she is!"

"And there's another right here." Margaery held a pup in her own hands. 

"They're ours?" She asked, not taking her eyes off the pups. 

"All ours." She smiled. "I know you already have Lady, but Willas and I were thinking you might like a lapdog or two, since she's gotten a bit too big for that." Margaery would dare say she had, for the wolf was nearly at her chest. 

"I love them!" Sansa looked close to tears. "This one will be Lemon, for its yellow fur," she gestured to the one in her hands, "and that one will be Jonquil, for its pretty eyes."

"Lemon and Jonquil it is." Margaery grinned, pulling Jonquil close to her chest. 

"How old are they?" Sansa asked.

"About two and a half months. Willas has been thinking of gifting them to you since you arrived, but after I told him your nameday was today we decided that now would be a good time to give them to you."

"I love them." Sansa said, nuzzling Lemon. 

"I'm glad. It's a good thing too, for we can bring them on the next little thing I have planned."

"There's more?"

"What, you didn't think I would go all out for my wife's nameday?"

"No, not that, I'm just surprised you managed to get everything together in such a short amount of time."

“You should never underestimate me, my love.” Margaery grinned, and kissed her.

“I’m learning that.” Sansa said smartly, kissing her back. Jonquil squirmed in Marg’s arms and so she set her down, letting her run free for a bit before the pup got tired and flopped back down at her heels. 

“She’s quite the ambitious one.” Margaery remarked, and picked up the tired pup again. 

“Let me just get one more thing,” she said, leaving Sansa behind to go fetch their picnic basket. 

“Where are we going?” Sansa asked as they walked away from the barn and towards the river.

“You’ll see.” Within moments it came in sight. It wasn’t the biggest boat, but it was just the right size for the both of them and the pups. It was a small pleasure barge, outfitted with soft couches and many cushions. A man was waiting by the drawbridge to help them on, a kind middle-aged man who’d served her family for years. 

“I’ve never been on a boat before,” Sansa said, stepping on gingerly. 

Margaery was shocked. “Never? Not once?”

Sansa shook her head, sitting down on one of the couches. “I’d never left Winterfell before I came here.”

Margaery sat down next to her, pulling her closer. “We’re going to change that.” Sansa chuckled lightly, leaning into her. 

“So what did you make us for lunch?” She gestured towards the picnic basket that the puppies were trying to get into. 

“Nothing that puppies should eat,” Margaery said, grabbing Lemon and putting her in her lap. The pup yipped indignantly, but after a moment settled down into her lap. Sansa took Jonquil who was much less hyper and put her in her own lap. She settled down much easier than her sister.

“They’ve both got quite the personality, haven’t they?” Sansa laughed, stroking Jonquil. 

“Indeed they do,” Margaery said, reaching for the picnic basket. She signalled to the captain to cast off, and Sansa grabbed her arm.

“Is it supposed to sway like that?” She asked wide-eyed.

Marg laughed. “Yes, my sweet, it’s a boat.”

“I know, I just, I didn’t expect it to feel like  _ that _ , you know?” Sansa released her grip, noticeably trying to calm her breathing. 

“It’s quite relaxing once you get used to it.” She said, leaning back. She pulled Sansa into her side after a moment of her just staring at her. Sansa moved her braid out of the way and leaned in, doing her best not to disturb the sleeping pups on their laps.

“It is relaxing.” Sansa said after a while. By this point the pups had moved onto their own cushion and Sansa had slowly moved herself so that her head was on her wife’s lap. 

“You could spend the whole day out here and not even realize.” Sansa said, gazing wistfully up at the sky. 

“Mmm,” Margaery murmured, playing with her hair. If there was one thing she loved almost as much as her wife, it was her wife’s hair. It was the color of the setting sun and felt like silk in her hands. She slowly began undoing the braid, letting her fingers get caught between the strands and watching them fall. The sun caught them as they moved, turning her hair to fire.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Sansa teased, pulling Margaery out of her trance.

“Hmm? Oh.” Sansa laughed. 

“I’m hungry. What do you have in your basket, my love?” Sansa gestured towards where the picnic basket sat on the table.

“I could only have the one thing, of course.” Margaery grinned, handing her wife the basket to see for herself.

Sansa grinned and dove into the basket. “Lemoncakes! Oh, and tarts too!” Sansa pulled out a lemoncake and bit into it, smiling blissfully.

“Only the best for my wife.”

“Marg, these are delicious!” Sansa stood up, “You have to have one, they’re amazing.”

“What? They’re yours.”

“Margaery, you  _ have  _ to have one of these.” She pushed a lemoncake into her hands and she had no choice. She took a bite. They  _ were _ amazing. She had told the cook to make the best lemoncakes she’d ever made but she had well outdone herself. 

“Lady Margaery, we’re coming up on the place you said.” The sailor called, pointing in that direction. 

“Thank you,” she said, turning back around to see her wife’s confused expression. 

“What place?” Sansa asked, tilting her head.

Margaery only grinned. “You’ll see.” 

The captain guided them down a smaller branch of the river that was narrower than the main river, and pulled the boat onto the bank. 

“From here,” Margaery said, undoing her hair, “we walk.”

Her poor Sansa was eternally confused but took her wife’s outstretched hand and began walking. They didn’t have to go far until they came upon a place where the river widened, creating a pool. In the late summer it was extraordinarily beautiful, with the fat green leaves drooping low and the water clear as the blue sky shining through the trees. The sunlight danced on the water, sometimes revealing the little fish that darted between the rocks.

“You were telling me about the hot pools in Winterfell and how much you enjoyed them, so I thought you might like to go swimming.”

Sansa turned to look at her, a smile on her face. “You know I don’t know how to swim.” 

Margaery dropped her jaw. “You don’t know how to swim? But I thought-”

Sansa laughed. “I know, but those pools were too shallow to swim in.”

She was unsure. “We can go back, if you don’t want to-” But Sansa was already getting undressed.

“I said that I didn’t know how to swim, not that I didn’t want to.” Sansa said cheekily, dropping her dress onto a rock. Sansa took off everything except her shift and walked to the waterline. “Well, are you coming?”

Margaery sent a quick prayer to whatever gods were listening and thanked them for sending her this woman, and stripped. 

The water was delightfully warm, and her wife was just as delightful in it. However, unlike her wife, Margaery cast off her shift before getting in, and sank into the water.

“I love this,” Sansa said, letting her hand glide through the water. Margaery swam up behind her, and wrapped her arms around her middle, planting kisses on the back of her neck.

“Margaery!” Sansa giggled, falling back against her. She turned around and gasped. “Margaery! You’re - you have no clothes on!”

She grinned, moving her hair to one shoulder. “Well, yes my love. One doesn’t usually wear clothes when swimming.”

Sansa looked down at her own shift, looked back at Margaery, and looked back down with an ambitious grin. “I suppose you’re right.” And with one smooth motion she took off the shift and threw it to the shore. She took her hair, which was past waist-length wet, and covered her chest with it. Margaery pulled her close to her again and kissed her. 

It was just beginning to get heated when Sansa pulled away suddenly and splashed her, laughing.

“Oh,” Margaery wiped her eyes, “I know it’s your nameday but I’m gonna get you for this!”

“You can try!” Sansa laughed, sending another wave her way. She began chasing her around the pool, both of them splashing each other and laughing like children. Finally Margaery looped her arm around Sansa’s waist and pulled her to her, kissing her. 

“I win.” Margaery pulled away and grinned, tongue sliding between her teeth. 

Sansa grinned cheekily. “I submit.” 

Margaery couldn’t smile wider and hooked Sansa’s legs up around her waist, pressing her lips to Sansa’s. She knotted her hands in Margaery’s hair and pulled, making her gasp.

“That wasn’t nice.” Margaery cocked her head, still grinning.

“It’s my nameday.” Sansa replied, daring her to say something. Margaery couldn’t argue with that and kissed her again, running her hands over her body. Once she was sure she knew where this was going, she tightened her grip on Sansa’s thighs and carried her onto the shore. 

It was awkward at first, and a bit slow-going, and a bit messier than Sansa thought, but a little while later both Sansa and Margaery were wrapped up in each other and happier than ever. Sansa was wrapped up in Margaery, her head resting happily on her chest and their legs intertwined. 

Sansa’s hand was resting on Margaery’s stomach, while her hand was on Sansa’s back tracing slow circles. 

“Margaery?”

“Yes, love?”

“Does it always feel that good?”

“No.” Margaery said, “It usually feels better, once you’ve done it a few times.”

“I can’t imagine it feeling better,” Sansa said, and they lapsed into peaceful silence again.

After a moment Sansa moved up onto her forearms with a question. “That thing that you did with your tongue . . . do men do that too?”

Margaery laughed a little. “I wouldn’t know, love, I’ve never been with a man.”

“Have you been with a woman?”

Margaery hesitated, but she knew it was a question not meant for jealousy. “Twice.”

“And she did that?”

“Yes.”

Sansa laid back down, wrapping herself up in Margaery again. “Well I’m glad she did.”

Margaery laughed a little again and pulled her wife closer to her.  _ My wife _ .  _ I suppose she’s my wife in every way now _ , she thought, and sighed contentedly, basking in the late afternoon sun with her wife. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was very unedited because i wanted to get it out to you guys (honestly you guys are the best, you're why i want to write this story so thank you) and i tried to make it longer and i really hope you guys liked it! let me know what you think and honestly thank you guys so so much i adore you all <3


	24. SANSA XVII

The morning was soft, light as a feather. The sunlight gently streamed through the break in the curtains, shining on the white sheets. Sansa sleepily reached out, feeling for the familiar warmth that was her wife, but her hand met only empty space. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, finding the room empty. 

“Lady, find Margaery,” she said to the direwolf at the foot of the bed, who obediently went off and began searching. In the meantime she pulled a sleepy Lemon onto her lap who only protested for a moment before settling herself. 

“Honestly Sansa, sending your wolf after me?” Margaery said playfully. 

“If I’d sent Jonquil or Lemon they’d still be looking,” she replied with a small smirk. 

Her wife rolled her eyes. “We do have servants, you know. And I was just in the next room,” she gestured to the door she’d come through, which was the connecting door between their chambers and Sansa’s old chambers. 

“Whatever were you doing in there?” She asked. They hardly went in there now, since Marg’s chambers were bigger and she slept here now. She did keep some of her clothes in there and some keepsakes, but she hadn’t been in there since before her nameday some weeks prior. 

Margaery had a sly smile on her face. “Why don’t you come see?”

Sansa cocked her head, but after a moment sighed and got up. Lemon once again protested, but was soon snoozing again beside her sister. She threw on a robe and followed her wife, who turned around and paused in the doorframe quite suddenly. 

“Cover your eyes.” She said with excitement. 

“Why?” She said, covering them anyway. 

“You’ll see.” She led her through the door. 

“Not if my eyes are shut.” 

Her wife laughed. “You’ve been spending too much time with Tyrells.”

“I suppose that’s what happens when I’m married to one.”

Margaery shook her head, continuing on, “So I’m sure you’ve heard of the Harvest Festival . . .”

“You haven’t stopped talking about it since before my nameday,” Sansa said lightheartedly. 

“And you know how everyone always wears costumes . . .”

“I think you’ve mentioned it once or twice,” she laughed. 

“Well,” Margaery took her hands from Sansa’s eyes, “what do you think?”

Whatever Sansa had been expecting, it wasn’t this. There were two dresses in the middle of the room, each elaborately and beautifully decorated. They were both hoop dresses, a style that had been common in Reach nobility centuries ago when the Harvest Festival was first celebrated. While they were pretty they were improper, even for the lives that nobles led. But, these dresses weren’t made to be proper, they were made to be pretty, and they were. 

The dress on the left was as red as the robins that sung in the trees of the garden. The bodice was a mix of black and red and white feathers, decorated just as a robins’ breast. The skirt was just as red, with black and white feathers sewn into it to make it look like a bird. There was a matching headdress made with feathers and pearls, styled so that it looked like the crest of a strong male robin. There was a train with overlapping red fabric that was made to look like the tail of, as the rest of the dress, a robin. The final touch were the sleeves that morphed into wing-like appendages. It was majestic and the tiniest bit frightening, and Sansa was in complete awe of it. 

The second dress was much less red, though it still followed the same bird-like fashion. No, this dress represented the gentle hummingbird. The bodice was a bit higher than the robin dress, so Sansa took this to mean this was hers. While the red dress was frightening, this was far gentler. The bodice was wrapped in white, gold, pink, green and yellow flowers, each intermingling like they’d grown on a bird. The pattern continued down the skirt, with each pastel feather sewn perfectly into the skirt. The headdress was a crown of pearls and a hairnet of golden silk. There was no train on this skirt, but it had the same wings, made of the same feathers as the rest of the dress. 

“Oh gods, Margaery . . .” she was in shock. “These . . . are the most beautiful dresses I have ever seen.”

“I hoped you’d like it,” Margaery smiled, wrapping her arms around Sansa and resting her chin on her shoulder. 

“The hummingbird dress is mine, I assume? You’re the only one who will wear that much red, except for a Lannister.”

“Red’s a good color!”

“Only on you,” she smiled, kissing her wife’s cheek and walking over to her dress. She stroked the fabric, feeling the soft feathers beneath her fingers, and turned to her wife with a smile. “Let’s try them on.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

It turned out that it wasn’t so easy to get into the dresses. Her normal dresses only had a few layers to them: corset, petticoat and dress.  _ This _ dress had many, many more. More petticoats than she’d ever worn in her life, garters, heeled shoes and something called a crinoline. Sansa had never worn a crinoline before and it felt unnatural around her waist.

“How am I supposed to sit down?” Sansa asked, messing with the steel outline as Margaery finished tying it in the back. 

“It’s flexible, dear, you can sit.”

“This is so impractical.” Sansa shook her head. In Winterfell she’d always worn the prettiest fashions she could get her hands on but even those were more than suitable for the cold weather.

“It isn’t supposed to be practical, darling, it’s a costume. Here, the skirt’s next.” While the crinoline was surprisingly light, the skirt was anything but, and that was on top of her already-heavy petticoats.

Oh, but once it was all on, from headdress to pink heeled shoes, Sansa felt like a princess from one of her stories. 

“It suits you perfectly,” Margaery marveled, drinking her in.

Sansa, knowing where this was going, said, “Margaery, you haven’t put on yours yet.” All she had on was her shift, garters and a corset, and didn’t seem too keen on putting anything else on. She walked towards her, wrapping her arms around her waist. 

“We haven’t even eaten breakfast yet,” Sansa grinned. 

“I think there’s something else I’d like to eat,” Margaery smirked, sinking to the floor and sliding under her skirt.

“Margaery!” Sansa rolled her eyes, and then gripped the table next to her. “Oh,  _ Margaery _ ."

Of course, they were late to breakfast. 

 

* * *

Highgarden was bursting with excitement for the Festival. Everywhere servants were bustling about with anything and everything in their hands, and for good reason. The Harvest Festival was the biggest event of the year, because everyone was involved. Ordinary folk from the towns nearby came to Highgarden to dance and sing in the gardens while nobles from all over the Reach wore elaborate costumes and danced and got drunk on the finest wines. 

In the weeks leading up to the Festival, nobility from all over had arrived in Highgarden. All of the distant Tyrell cousins came flocking back, as well as the Fossoways, Blackbars, Bulwers, Beesburys, Appletons, Cranes, Merryweathers, Oakhearts and a dozen other small houses. The bigger houses like the Redwynes, the Tarlys and the Hightowers usually didn’t come since they had their own Festivals.

From dawn till dusk, no, perhaps more from midday to dusk, Sansa and Margaery were greeting nobility, decorating the castle and finding places for all the fruit the nobles brought with them. This went on for three days until the day of the Festival finally came. 

“Sansa, you can’t  _ possibly _ sleep in on today of all days,” Margaery woke her, throwing the blankets off.

“Gods, is it finally here?” Sansa rubbed the sleep from her eyes and looked at her wife, who looked as giddy as a child. 

“Yes! Come on, let’s go!” Margaery pulled her out of bed and they quickly got dressed. Not yet in their bird costumes, that wasn’t until the ball. No, until then they had tastings of wine, fruit, pies, cakes and half a hundred other baked goods, all presented by the ordinary folk who had made them.

“Here, Lady Sansa, try this,” “Lady Sansa, you simply must try this,” “Lady Sansa, this is absolutely delicious,” and so the morning went. The ordinary folk presenting their wares blessed her each time and she responded in kind. She enjoyed speaking with them; they reminded her of the people in Winterfell like Mikken the blacksmith or Old Nan and for a moment her heart longed for them . . . but then she would look at her smiling wife and realize this is where she was meant to be.  

For the midday meal all the nobility that had come dined with the Tyrells in the Formal Dining Hall. It was a splendor that Sansa had never known in the feasts at Winterfell, but the feeling of celebration and togetherness was the same. 

“Margaery, I can’t possibly eat anymore,” Sansa said, pushing her plate away from her. 

“You still have to fit into your dress, love.” Margaery grinned, “But don’t worry, you have plenty of time to rest before tonight.”

Then Garlan stood, already having drank a bit more than he should’ve, and raised his glass. “To good food and good friends!” He toasted, and everyone raised their glass with a happy shout. “May life always be this pleasurable,” he said with a notable wink at his wife. 

“Hear, hear!” Mace said, and everyone drank. “Now, the costume ball will start at sundown. Until then.” He bowed his head and escorted him and Alerie out of the room. Soon after the other nobles began leaving, and so Sansa and Margaery took their leave. 

“I wish you were strong enough to carry me upstairs,” Sansa said, leaning heavily on her wife.

“Gods, Sansa, you had  _ one _ glass of sweetened wine.”

“Yes, and I’ve been eating all day. I feel full to burst. If I take one more step who knows what might happen.” She grinned, her arms wrapped around Margaery’s waist. 

“You’re downright pitiful, aren’t you?” Marg shook her head and scooped her wife up into her arms.

“I am rescued once again by my gallant knight.” She leaned her head against her shoulder, smiling contentedly. 

“Alright, fair maiden, you need a nap.”

“Nooo . . .” she said, already falling asleep from all the excitement of the morning. 

“Yes, my love,” she said, clumsily opening the door to their room and setting Sansa down in their bed. Lady, who’d chosen to stay away from all the festivities, jumped up onto the bed and settled at her feet. Jonquil and Lemon, not to be left out, tried to jump onto the bed and succeeded after a few attempts. Jonquil curled up by her head while Lemon settled in the crook of her leg, and soon she was fast asleep. 

When she woke again all of her various pets were still gathered around her, but her head was now in Margaery’s lap. 

“How long did I sleep for?” She said, stretching and displacing Jonquil. 

“A couple of hours. Don’t worry, I think everyone went back to their rooms and crashed.”

“Did you?”

She shook her head. “I’m too excited.” It was true. Her wife was glowing with happiness, and perhaps the wine she’d drank helped that. 

“When does the costume ball start?” Sansa asked, sitting up and picking up a sleepy Jonquil. 

“Sundown, a few hours,” 

“Only a few hours? We’d better start now or we might be late,” Sansa teased, happily following her enthusiastic wife into the next room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my apologies for sporadic updates; i lost a bit of inspiration for this fic but i found it again so! expect more soon!


	25. SANSA XVIII

It took nearly two hours for them to get ready, from garters to gowns. The afternoon brought many new experiences, besides the hoop skirt and the high-heeled shoes. Sansa had never had her face painted before, and she didn’t know that that much went into it.

“Women  _ do _ this?” Sansa said as Palla applied rouge to her cheek, and a light pink mixture onto her lips. Her cheeks were brushed with colored powders to make her look more like the hummingbird she was supposed to be, and something called kohl was used to outline her eyes. 

“Women do this all the time,” Margaery grinned, as her handmaiden Merry applied copious amounts of black kohl to her eyes. Margaery’s lips were bright red while the area around her eyes was all black. In truth, she looked both frightening and regal, and Sansa felt something stir in the pit of her stomach. 

Margaery finished putting on her shoes and stood, giving a small twirl. 

“What do you think?” She asked, knowing exactly what Sansa was thinking. 

“That it better be harder to get out of that dress than getting into it was.” Sansa said. Three months ago she would’ve never imagined herself saying that, but now? To say the least, things were different, and she was happier for it. 

Margaery laughed in response, which strongly contrasted with the look she was going for. “Come, my love, we must make our entrance.”

“Coming, Lady Robin.” Sansa giggled, taking her wife’s arm; and so with a thankful farewell to their dutiful handmaidens they departed. 

“Does that make you Lady Hummingbird?” Margaery asked with a gleam in her eye. 

She giggled, leaning into her. “I suppose so,” and pressed a kiss to her painted cheek, leaving a faint pink outline on her pale cheek. 

They approached the ballroom doors and the guards opened the doors for them. The ball was already in full swing, wine being poured into crystal glasses, women in elaborate costumes floating over the dance floor with esteemed lords in fancy doublets, and above all the greatest sense of joy and frivolity Sansa had ever known. 

With her arm in Margaery’s they walked in, capturing everyone’s attention. Lords and ladies seemed to cower before her wife’s crimson spectacle, while others fawned over how light and flowing her own gown seemed to be. They were at the very center of attention, and Sansa reveled in it. She knew her wife did too, and that was why she’d gone to such lengths designing their gowns. 

Margaery, always one for drama, went straight to the middle of the ballroom with Sansa on her arm. The dancers had all stopped dancing, the musicians halting as they made their way to the middle of the floor. Sansa, once more, felt like a princess - no, not a princess; a Queen. 

Margaery put an arm on her waist and her shoulder, and Sansa put her hand on her shoulder in kind. With a quick nod towards the conductor the music began once more and they were twirling around the dance floor. In that moment her wife reminded her of a general, commanding respect and loyalty from all those who would follow her. That was the point of all of this, she realized. In whatever was to come she wanted to ensure that her people both loved her and feared her. The sudden realization startled part of her, and calmed another. She loved her, and so she would ensure she was protected too. She leaned in closer to her wife as other dancers took the floor alongside them, finding comfort in her touch. 

“Are you alright, love?” Margaery asked, noticing as she always did. 

“I’ve never been happier,” she said, honestly admiring her in every way imaginable. And so they continued to dance. 

Margaery twirled her around, laughing all the while, mirth filling her eyes. It was contagious and soon Sansa was giggling like the lovestruck maid she was. The music picked up and the steps were faster, until they were going around and around, laughing, out of breath, and drunk on happiness. 

They laughed themselves off the dance floor but Margaery’s hands stayed wrapped around her. A waiter came and offered them drinks, which they both gladly took. 

“Margaery,” Sansa said, taking a long sip of her drink, “I have never danced like that in my life.”

She grinned, pulling her in as much as the hoop skirts would allow. “Just wait until you see them in about two hours.”

They finished their drinks and went back to the floor, dancing with each other before others stepped in. Margaery was whisked away by her father while Sansa was traded off to Garlan, who was almost as good of a dancer as Margaery. 

He was dressed as a bear, which fit him surprisingly well. He had a shaggy doublet on, shaggy pants and his hair had been teased to the point that he looked more like a hermit than a bear, and yet all the same he looked impeccably handsome.

“Did Margaery choose the costume?” 

Sansa nodded. “I’m glad she did, though - I have no idea what I would’ve done.”

“A hummingbird, though, eh? If I were picking what kind of bird you’d be, it wouldn’t be a hummingbird. Very flighty animals, all over the place.”

“Oh?” Sansa was confused. “Then what would you choose?”

“A dove, perhaps. Level-headed, friendly, good.”

In Sansa’s blissful state this description and its meaning went over her head, but she still appreciated it. “Thank you,” she replied honestly. “While we’re on the subject, I don’t think you’re a bear.”

Garlan simply smiled. “And why’s that?”

“Bears are too dull for you. . . you’re . . . . you’re a horse.”

“A horse?”

Sansa knew she was on the right track of what she wanted to say, but she didn’t know how to say it. “Horses are big like you, for one, and they’re particular. But maybe you’re not, since you are so friendly?” She was driving herself crazy trying to come up with the right animal for Garlan. 

He simply laughed. “Once you figure it out come find me,” he said and passed her off to one of the Fossoway knights. 

She changed partners at least half a dozen times before making her way back to Margaery. 

“I’m sorry you had to dance with Lord Blackbar,” Margaery said, leaning in so that no one else could hear. “He’s so droll, I’m surprised he’s as good of a dancer as he is.”

“Oh, he’s not so bad,” Sansa said, though he pretty much was. 

“Come on,” Margaery took her hand, “this part of the party’s getting tiring.” 

“What do you mean?” Sansa asked, but she looked around and knew what she meant. Most of the young people had begun to leave and the older were starting to yawn or at least split off into separate circles. She turned to Margaery. “Then where are we going?”

“The gardens.” Margaery said with a gleam in her eye. “Here, follow me.” 

She followed her out of the ballroom and into the cool night air. The moon was full that night and the courtyard shone as bright as day. However, in the moonlight Margaery’s dress seemed much darker while Sansa seemed to glow, as if she was made of moonglow. 

Margaery stared at her in wonder, her hand still clasped in hers. “By the gods,” she whispered, as if it were a prayer, “what did I do to deserve you?”

Sansa stepped closer, putting her free hand on Margaery’s cheek. “That is the question I should be asking, my love.”

Margaery looked in her eyes with love and adoration, and kissed her. There was nothing but love and gaiety in that kiss and she savored every bit of it. Never before had she been so loved, so cherished; the intensity rose up in her until she felt she was going to burst from happiness. 

Margaery broke away, eyes bright.”Come, my love, we’re late to our next party.” She took her hand and they ran across the cobblestones, heels clicking against the stones. They ran through the inner gate and the middle gate and into the outer gardens, the hum-drum of cheering drunk people growing louder and louder. Somewhere along the way Sansa lost her shoes and stepped into the grass with bare feet. There was a loud ‘whoop’ in the crowd when they realized just who had decided to join them and they were soon swept up in a wave of people, music and ale. 

“Where’s the dance floor?” Margaery asked, grinning wildly. 

“You’re standing on it!” One replied while another laughed, “Let’s see our lady dance a jig!”

“See, folks, I don’t think my wife knows how to dance a proper southern dance,” Her wife smiled and pulled her closer to her. “We oughta show her, don’t you think?”

The crowd erupted in agreement. The musicians stopped, waiting for Margaery’s signal. She picked up her skirts and Sansa copied. With a grin her wife nodded towards the musicians. Her wife’s feet began to move to the lively jig, slowly at first. Sansa copied her, tapping her bare feet against the hard wood of the dance floor. A cheer went up when she got it right and soon others were joining in, tapping to the rhythm. Sansa found herself laughing as she danced with seemingly everyone she’d laid her eyes on. But before all that, it was Margaery, laughing and dancing to peasant jigs like she’d been born to it. On the last number they spun around and around and around, skipping and kicking and feeling just about as happy as any of them had ever been. They got overswept by the crowd and ran off deeper into the gardens, laughing all over each other. 

They finally stopped once the hubbub had faded into a low hum from the other side of the gardens, and sat down on a bench. 

“Oh, Margaery,” Sansa sighed contentedly, leaning her head against her wife’s shoulder, “I don’t think I’ve ever had that much fun in my life.”

“The night’s not over yet.” She put her arm around her and kissed the top of her head. 

Sansa barely registered it as she was enraptured with the big clear moon shining through the trees, turning their stone bench to silver. It looked so strong up there in the vast dark sky, yet was gentle in her glow. Unlike the sun, who seemed to shine too brightly at times, the moon was soft, gentle, like a guardian watching over her. 

She felt Margaery move next to her and turned to see what she was doing. “No, don’t,” came her wife’s voice, soft like the dawn. 

Sansa stayed put, a bit confused. “Why?”

She heard paper crinkle and the sound of a pencil scratching. “Margaery?”

“Shhh, give me a minute.”

Sansa stayed still but kept side-eyeing just to catch a glimpse of what her wife was doing. That was a complete failure, so she instead looked around. She’d never been in this part of the gardens before; usually they went to the gardens inside all of the walls, instead of the gardens between the walls. They were spacious, full of hidden alcoves and well-trimmed bushes and cobblestone pathways. The two of them were seated in one of these alcoves which was surrounded by tall bushes so that no one could see in. Lightning bugs were flitting around them, their yellow glow only adding to the tranquility of the silver moonlight. 

“Alright, I’m done,” Margaery said, folding the piece of paper. 

“Don’t I get to see it?” Sansa asked. She knew her wife would draw sometimes but it was usually when no one could see. None but Loras had seen any before, so she’d been told. 

“Not yet.” She put it in her pocket and faced her again. 

“Why not?”

“I have to paint it, I can’t show you just the sketch,” she said, shaking her head slightly.

“As the sketched isn’t it my right to know?” Sansa raised an eyebrow. She’d never been drawn before, she’d always been the one to draw others. Though she was never any good at it. 

Margaery pursed her lips and after a moment shook her head. 

“Hmm,” Sansa was thinking, “will you at least tell me why?”

“Why?”

“Why you decided to draw me right here, tonight.”

Margaery seemed almost . . . shy? Which wasn’t a word most people ever placed with her wife. It hadn’t been hard for them to be physically intimate as of late but perhaps Sansa was trying to dig too deep emotionally? They hadn’t exactly gotten that far yet. 

In the light Margaery seemed so much younger. “I’ve drawn you before, but, tonight? You just looked so happy and carefree and in the moonlight . . . gods, you took all the breath out of my lungs. You make my heart flutter like no one I’ve ever met before, you make me want to run and jump and shout with happiness, you make me want to abandon all responsibility and focus on you and you alone. You glow like the moon in the sky and when you were looking at it that’s all I could think of.” She took a moment to breathe. “Truth be told, though, the moon has nothing on you, my love. That’s why I had to draw you. I want to remember the way you look tonight.”

Sansa was overcome. “Will you show me when you’re finished?”

Margaery nodded. Sansa reached for her hand, intertwining her long fingers with Margaery’s smaller ones, admiring how their rings shone in the moonlight. 

“I love you,” she said softly. She looked at her. “If I am the moon, you are the summer sun. You’re so full of life and I just . . . I don’t have any words, I’m not a poet.”

“Neither am I, my love. I suppose it’s why I draw.”

“You’re amazing at words, what do you mean?” Sansa shook her head. “You  _ are _ like the sun, though. You just . . . you have this way of making everything around you grow and shine. Like the townfolk? Your very presence made them shine in a way I’ve never seen before. I know thousands upon thousands of poems and songs have been written about the sun and the moon, but I can’t think of any that would properly describe the way I feel about you.”

Margaery didn’t have any words left. She kissed the top of her head. “Words fall far too short when it comes to describing love.”

“I suppose I’ll have to settle for I love you.” Sansa said, lightly squeezing her hand.

“I love you too.” Her wife whispered softly in the moonlight. At that moment the two, bathed in moonlight and glowing with love, felt for the first time what it was like to love another person with their complete body and soul; it felt like a missing piece had finally fallen into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me?? a slut for sun/moon parallels??? it's more likely than you think
> 
> in all honesty thank you guys for reading this far, and i'm very happy to say that this chapter marks the end of the highgarden arc!! (don't get concerned, nothing bad is happening) and that means i'm about 10ish chapters away from finishing part one!! it only took me a year and nearly 50k words but what's a girl to do
> 
> also, my friend @IrradiatedCutie is a phenomenal writer and 90% of the reason i have the motivation to write. she has a really good robb/myrcella fic she's writing right now called 'southern silks and northern furs' and if you're reading this then you /need/ to go read that (also she like, actually updates in a timely manner)
> 
> thank you guys so much, i hope you all have a lovely week!


	26. SANSA XIX

They left for Brightwater two days after the Harvest Festival. Saying good-bye to Highgarden had been harder than she’d thought, even though she knew it was only for a little while. It wasn’t just the people, either, though she was already missing Willas terribly. 

No, she’d had to leave her puppies behind. Of course she was taking Lady, but her little puppies were too small to travel all over the Reach. Besides leaving her dear friend and brother-in-law that had been the worst part. At the official farewell, which all of the Tyrell family was present for, she’d watched as Margaery bid a pleasant good-bye to her parents and brother while Sansa stood by her horse. Mace gave her a nice nod and a loose hug, which meant he was at least trying. Alerie simply gave her a curt nod. Olenna said farewell much more warmly than she would have anticipated, a pleasant surprise since she’d only been lukewarm to her thus far. Willas gave her a kiss on both cheeks before wrapping her up in a hug. Sansa nearly wanted to cry, though she knew she’d be back in just a few months. Highgarden had become dear to her heart; all its little nooks and crannies and the Mander and the gardens and their puppies. Of course she was happy to travel and see more of her wife’s homeland but it had always been hard for Sansa to leave places. She didn’t care for change. 

Garlan and Leonette said their goodbyes to the family, which went much faster than Margaery and Sansa’s, and the four were off. Garlan and Leonette took the lead out of Highgarden and soon the white castle disappeared beyond the hills. It was a surprisingly easy journey, especially since Garlan kept up an easy banter the whole time. 

“Is it just me or is anyone else still feeling the effects of the festival?” Garlan asked, touching his head tenderly. 

“I don’t believe all of us drank as much as you did.” Margaery said with a pointed look.

“I am well aware of my limits,” he said defensively, puffing out his chest.

“No, husband, you are  _ not _ .” Leonette said with a sly grin. 

“Well, I may have been drunk, but there is no mistaking what my dear sister and her wife were up to that night.” Garlan grinned, throwing the heat off of him. 

“Garlan!” cried Margaery, echoed by Sansa. He simply shrugged and smirked. 

“Thin walls . . .” he said teasingly, laughing at the end. 

“Garlan, leave them alone. Heavens know we got enough noise complaints when we were first wed.” Leonette responded in her soft but pointed way. 

Sansa and Margaery both ‘oohed’ like children and the part of Garlan’s face not covered by his beard turned bright red. He was quiet after that, for a few minutes at least. The rest of the trip went much in the same way.

Brightwater Keep was nowhere near the size of Highgarden, but it was still a noble and old castle with pretty gardens and spacious rooms of old stone. It was almost quaint; she could feel it welcoming her as she passed underneath its stone arches. 

They spent a few blissful weeks at Brightwater, frolicking in the gardens and shopping in the town. The four of them spent a lot of time together, since Brightwater was a small keep and didn’t need a lot of lording over. They had dinner each night and would retire to the sitting room where Leonette and Sansa would practice various instruments and their spouses would listen and sing along if they knew it well enough. It was bliss like she’d never known, the new domestic kind that came with marriage and growing up.

It was on one of these nights that things took an interesting turn. Garlan and Leonette had hosted some hedge knights for dinner, one of whom had been Garlan’s squire when he’d first become a knight. They’d joined them in the larger sitting room for additional drinks. Margaery, Sansa discovered, was able to assimilate into any group, even when the group was a ton of young bawdy knights, sharing stories that they all wished were war stories. Sansa found it a bit strange. She’d never thought about what knights did when there were no battles to fight. 

“I’m the best swordsman here,” young Ser Quinten boasted with a pointed look at Garlan. 

“Did you think I taught you everything I know?” Garlan said, looking at his former squire with a wide grin.

The other two knights went ‘oooooh’ like children, elbowing Quinten. “You didn’t have to.” He replied with a cheeky grin. 

Garlan looked towards his wife who was sitting with Sansa. “My love, it seems I have been challenged.”

“No dueling in my sitting room, love, you remember last time.” She replied, with that easy banter tone that exists between husband and wife.

The three women followed the men out to the courtyard. The sun had just set not too long before, so there were still a few tendrils of light shining over the cobblestone. Garlan shrugged off his doublet, leaving on just his pants and a white shirt. The young knight did the same, except he went so far as to take off his shirt.

“That’s how you know he’ll lose.” Margaery whispered. 

“It’s not a good look for him,” Sansa agreed, “but maybe not a bad look for everyone.”

Margaery looked at her wife, mouth open in shock. “Are you suggesting that I duel my brother topless?”

Sansa only laughed. “You can’t tell me that you never learned how to use a sword - not with three older brothers.”

Margaery grinned, wrapping her arm around her waist and pulling her in. “Maybe so.”

The fight was over and done with before Sansa could blink. Garlan and Quinten circled each other until Quinten made the mistake of lashing out, something Garlan expected. He parried the blow hard enough to swing the sword out of his hand. 

“What’s that about being the best swordsman here?” Garlan laughed, but not at him. They laughed together, and no one’s pride was hurt.

“Alright, alright, I’ve learned my lesson,” Quinten laughed. “It’s true - no one’s your match.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Garlan said humbly, but it was true. Sansa was certain he was near as skilled as Ser Arthur Dayne and the Knight of the Laughing Tree.

“Here, Quinten, I’ll redeem you,” Margaery stepped forward with a wink at Sansa. 

“Margaery?” Garlan asked, obviously surprised.

“You need a real challenge.” She said, taking off her bodice and leaving on only her corset. Quinten passed her his sword. She swung it a few times to feel the weight, then pointed it at her brother.

Garlan had a wicked grin on his face and he too lifted his sword into position. They circled each other for a quick moment until something clicked in both of them and they struck at each other. Their swords moved faster than Sansa could keep track of. There was one time when Margaery nearly disarmed him but he was quick at getting back on his feet. Sansa, for one, simply couldn’t believe that she’d been hiding this from her the entire time.

“Did you know Margaery was good at this?” she asked Leonette. 

“I knew she’d picked up a sword before but I didn’t - oh!”

Garlan and Margaery had locked their swords together. She was going to elbow him to get him to cave but he caught her and swiftly disarmed her, slinging her sword into the air and catching it with his other hand. Leonette began clapping as well as the other knights and Garlan took his bow. Margaery made her way over to her wife, wrapping her in her arms and kissing her. 

“You’ve been hiding that from me.” Sansa accused. 

“It’s not exactly a useful skill for a lady . . . but if I’d known you liked it so much I would’ve told you sooner.”

“I told you that as a girl all I wanted was for a knight to come sweep me off my feet.”

“Like this?” Quick as a cat she picked Sansa up like the knight she’d always dreamed about. Sansa laughed, wrapping her arms around her neck. 

“Exactly like this.”

“Would you two get a room?” Garlan said, as if he were leaving any space between him and Leonette. 

“You first,” Margaery said, eyeing the nonexistent space between them.

“Don’t be crass!” Sansa said, as if she wasn’t giving her  _ those _ eyes. 

“Sounds like you need to get your wife to bed, Marg.” Garlan winked. She rolled her eyes but took her wife upstairs. 

“I didn’t know you were strong,” Sansa said. 

“What kind of wife would I be if I wasn’t full of surprises?” She replied, grinning cheekily at her wife. Sansa laughed gaily, and let her take her to bed. 


	27. SANSA XX

The next morning Sansa woke to find her wife at the desk, going through letters with a troubled look on her face. She got out of bed, patting Lady and throwing on a robe and went to see what her wife was so distressed about. 

“You’re up early,” she remarked. Margaery only now seemed to notice that Sansa was up and hastily folded the letter she was reading. “What’s that?” She asked suspiciously.

“Just a letter from Grandmother,” she said casually.

“Any news?”

“Not much,” she said, a bit cryptically. If Sansa had been awake longer than a few moments she’d would’ve contested it but breakfast was a more immediate concern. Margaery put the letters away, slyly locking them into a drawer. Sansa thought nothing of it, instead calling for one of the servants to bring breakfast.

Garlan had decided to hold a tourney and so preparations were underway at Brightwater. Sansa always liked the feel of a busy castle, no matter the size. There was excitement in the air that seeped into her skin, casting away any worries like the summer wind. When she was a girl in Winterfell they’d have a feast on the Day of the Father every year. It wasn’t a holiday typically celebrated in the North; her mother had brought it with her when she married. She remembered the lights and the feast and the laughter and from a young age it had imbued her with a desire to host and direct like her mother did. Margaery and Leonette indulged her, letting her choose the menu for the feasts and decorate the Great Hall. Sansa ran around, happy as a bumblebee, directing people and tasting soups and meats and desserts. Margaery would often follow her around, watching her, occasionally bringing her sketchbook.

They broke their fast that morning and got dressed, as today was the day of the tourney. It was a tourney made for young knights who didn’t yet have a lord to serve and therefore, nothing better to do. This gave them a chance to show off what little skill they had and to try and impress ladies. Since this tourney was small all the smallfolk from nearby towns had been invited, and Sansa had arranged for feast tables for them as well. 

Sansa dressed in one of her green silks, braiding her hair into a circle atop her head and laying a small silver circlet on it for decoration. She felt like the lady of a castle.

“You’ve never done your hair like that before,” her wife remarked, twisting her hair back into its usual flowy style.

“I saw some of the handmaidens doing it like this,” she said, tucking a strand in. “I had one of them teach me.”

“It looks good on you,” she smiled. “It makes you look older.”

Sansa smiled, pleased. “I look like a real lady of a keep,”

Margaery sat back. “Would you like to have a keep of our own?”

“I love Highgarden and I love Brightwater,” Sansa said, in a tone that obviously meant ‘yes’. “But I think it’d be nice. One day.”

“There are dozens of old castles scattered all over the Reach. On our way back to Highgarden perhaps we can look at a few.” She offered.

Sansa smiled at her as she put in some pearl earrings. “I’d like that.”

“My love, it’s only a tourney. You don’t have to get dressed up like it’s a reception or a ball.”

“I want to,” she said determinedly, clasping on her gold rose necklace.

“You’re certainly looking very Tyrell,”

“One of us has to, don’t you think? I don’t remember the last time you dressed in green or gold.”

“Blue has always been my color, I think. Green makes me look fat.”

Sansa laughed, light as a bell. “If you say so, my dear.” She extended her hand and the two of them were off to the tourney. It was being held at the bottom of the hill that the keep sat upon. It was a wide space, perfect for a tourney of this size. The grass had been torn up and replaced with a tourney track and benches had been placed around it for the townsfolk. They had their own box at the center of the track, which they made their way to. Garlan stood, making a short, half-serious address which had the townspeople rioting with laughter.

“Let the joust begin!” He ended, and the first two knights took their place at opposite ends of the clearing. Sansa had never seen a tourney before and watched the first one with excitement - until she realized how pointless jousting was.

“This is what you do for entertainment in the South?” Sansa leaned over and asked her wife as the third match began. The first joust had ended with both of the knights falling off their horses - quite anticlimactic in Sansa’s opinion. The second match had been slightly more interesting, as Ser Olyver of Bitterbridge easily unhorsed Ser Cristofer of Ashford in a move that made the audience cheer. Sansa was sure her heart skipped a beat just before the lances met. She watched as Ser Cristofer fell gracelessly to the ground. It was strange; she’d always pictured them falling from their horse with godlike grace, like the songs, but no. It was hard and fast and brutal. Sansa winced in sympathy.

Margaery took her wife’s hand. “Knights will be knights.”

The two for the third match lined up. On her left was a run-of-the-mill Reach knight on a shining white horse. He looked like how she’d always imagined the heroes from the songs to be with his golden hair and shining new armor, but he lacked the grace and dignity that the songs spoke of. Underneath that armor was just another boy who wanted to be Ser Arthur Dayne, but she knew he wouldn’t. He was covered in frivolity and arrogance from his plumed helmet to his steel toes. No poet would ever write songs about him - no true ones, anyway. Sansa felt melancholy at the thought, but she didn’t know why.

On her right the rider strode up to the post, but there was something different about him. He didn’t wear the same armor, nor did he carry himself the same as the others, he didn’t even ride the same horse. His armor was light, simple leather from shoulders to feet. His helmet covered his entire face, hiding his features. His horse was smaller than the others, more suited to the smaller rider. The other knights looked like children on their great big destriers, but this horse fit the rider just as well as if Willas had trained it. He carried himself easily, not forcing his graceful demeanor as the others had tried to do. Sansa hadn’t cared for a winner in the past matches, but she was hoping this mystery knight won the whole contest.

Margaery leaned over to Garlan. “Did you know a Dornishman was coming?”

Garlan shook his head. “Perhaps Prince Oberyn has graced us with his presence.”

“Would he come for such a modest prize?” She asked. The winner of the joust was to receive a thousand gold dragons, which would change the lives of some of the knights here but Oberyn Martell was a prince of Dorne. He had no need for money.

“He wouldn’t come for the prize - he’d come to see the look on my face.” Garlan smiled wickedly and raised his cup for the joust to begin. The two, Reachman and Dornishman, galloped at each other, the Reachman clunky and uneven, the Dornishman smooth and graceful. They collided, lance against lance, and Sansa heard the crescendo of violins. The Dornishman’s lance struck him in the shoulder as if it had been placed there by some divine force. The knight fell to the dirt, his horse galloping away neighing wildly. The focus turned to the knight, cursing like a sailor, and the Dornishman seemed to disappear into thin air. He did not appear in any of the other matches.

 

* * *

 

“I suppose it was not Oberyn,” Garlan said the next morning at breakfast. He had not appeared in any other matches, nor had he come to the feast.

“I asked someone after the joust about him but he seemed to have simply vanished,” Leonette said. The award had ended up going to Ser Olyver of Bitterbridge.

“I think Sansa fell in love with him,” Margaery teased. “She’s been staring off into space ever since he appeared."

“I have not!” Sansa defended herself. “He was just . . . different.”

“Perhaps one day you’ll find out who your mystery knight is, love.” She squeezed her hand, showing her she empathized. “And perhaps,” she said with a glimmer in her eye, “Garlan will joust for all of us again.”

Garlan shook his head. “I think not. I don’t like for others to know my skill.”

Sansa piped up, her mystery knight briefly forgotten. “My father says the same thing!” And the conversation went on from there.

After breakfast Sansa went off with Leonette for music lessons while Margaery went back to her study. She’d gotten more letters that she said needed responding to. Sansa, still in a bit of a daze from the tourney, thought nothing of it and happily went off with Leonette.

“Leo,” Sansa asked later, “forgive me if I’m being too forward . . . but why haven’t you and Garlan had children yet? You’ve been wed near two years.”

“What, you want little nieces and nephews?” Leo laughed. “Honestly, we haven’t really been trying, well, we’ve been  _ trying _ if you catch my meaning,” she laughed again, “but neither of us feel a need to have children yet. Where did all this talk come from?”

Sansa looked down at her feet. “Oh, I don’t know.”

“Do you want children, goodsister?”

She bit her lip. “I never imagined a future where I wouldn’t be able to have any . . . I didn’t think about it until just today, when Margaery went back to her study.” She paused. “Back in Winterfell when I was small my father used to always go to his study at a certain hour and me and Robb would always try to figure out what he was doing and pretend we were writing letters to lords ourselves. I suppose it just . . . it just reminded me of that.”

Leonette took her hand, rubbing it gently. “Just because you’re married to Margaery doesn’t mean you can’t have children. I’ve seen how you are with the children at the orphanages, you’d make a great mother. I’d just recommend you waiting a few years.”

“Oh, of course!” She said. “Now that me and Marg are settling down a bit it’s just got me thinking.”

“Talk to her about it,” she suggested easily.

“You know what, though? I don’t think she wants children.”

“You’ve got a few years yet,” Leo reminded gently. “Just talk to her.”

Leonette had quickly become the big sister Sansa had never had. She gave her a hug and Sansa went back to her room, rife with new ideas.

Margaery was at her desk, very involved in her letter writing. So much so, in fact, that she didn’t realize Sansa enter the room. She took this opportunity to walk up to her and start gently massaging her shoulders. Margaery was startled and stood up quickly. In her hurry she spilled the inkwell all over the letter she’d been writing.

“Sansa!” She said, angrier than she should be over a letter. She’d never raised her voice like that to her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, taking a step away from her wife.

Margaery seemed to realize what she’d done, looking regretfully at her wife and then the stained letter. “I’m sorry. It’s just a letter.” Even still, her tone changed on the word ‘letter’. She picked up the overturned inkwell but didn’t make a move to clean up the ink itself; instead she stopped, staring at the ink and the words that had been drowned.

Sansa looked at her wife with concern, taking a step towards her. “Margaery?”

She snapped out of her trance, wordlessly grabbing something to clean the ink with.

“Margaery,” she put her hand on her arm. “Are you alright?”

She was still; after a moment she met her eyes. “I’m fine, Sansa. It’s just a bit of spilled ink.” She saw her retreat behind her easy facade.

Sansa stood back, not breaking eye contact. “You’ve been distant for days. You’ve been locking yourself away in your study. I know you’re upset about something - please, let me help. It can’t be so serious that I can’t help you.”

Her wife warred with herself for a moment, obviously debating it; in the end she sighed. “Sit down. This concerns you as well, and you have a right to know.”

Sansa sat on the bed, Lady taking her faithful place by her feet.

Margaery chose to stand. “You remember when Renly came to Highgarden and told us about Cersei’s children?”

Sansa nodded. She couldn’t forget.

“Renly has been pushing for Robert to annul our marriage -”

“Us? Margaery, he can’t!”

“I’m afraid that’s not the worst of it, my dear. He’s also been pushing Jon Arryn towards Robert’s bastards, in the hopes that he’ll realize the truth. If the truth came from Renly himself it would all be seen as hearsay, a younger brother reaching for the throne.”

“But he wants the throne?”

“Yes and no. He wants to get rid of Cersei Lannister and put me in her place - and when Robert dies he wants to take the throne for himself.”

“He wants to marry  _ you _ to  _ him _ ?” Sansa paused out of disbelief. “That can’t possibly happen.”

“It won’t,” Margaery said with certainty. “Renly believes me to be some sort of pawn, since he can’t look past his own nose long enough to get any taste of reality.” She allowed herself a moment to be angry. “That isn’t the last of it, either.”

“What more could there possibly be?”

“My grandmother likes to keep tabs on people and she’s just gotten word that the Martells are planning to wed Princess Arianne to Viserys Targaryen.”

Sansa was growing more and more confused by the minute. “The Targaryens are exiled, that can’t possibly happen.” She wanted to choose denial over acceptance.

“It can and if I know the Martells, it will. They hate Robert, they’ll do anything to spite him. I’m sure it goes further than that, too, but Grandmother doesn’t know yet. She’s headed to Dorne to meet with Doran and, well-”

“She wants us to go too?” Sansa guessed. She didn’t know how she felt about it.

Margaery nodded. “By my guess she’ll be in Sunspear in a few weeks, but I won’t go if you don’t want to.”

Sansa pondered. “If they hate the Baratheons then they hate the Starks too, don’t they?”

“Not quite as much but none of them will say a negative word to you. Besides, they hate Lannisters and Baratheons far more than they hate Starks.”

“Why is she going? You said to meet with Prince Doran but what is she hoping to find out? And why have you there?”

Margaery looked away, pacing. “Arianne and I have known each other a long time; she’ll want me to help her figure out why she’s marrying the Targaryen.”

Sansa looked out the window, seeing the green rolling hills surrounding Brightwater; and in the far distance a glimpse of blue. “Until now it felt like our lives were small, that it was only the two of us and nothing else. Now . . . I’m not sure if I’m ready to meet the wide world again.”

Margaery took her hand. “Neither am I . . . but I’m afraid we don’t have a choice.”

Sansa took a breath, leaning into her, doing her best to ready herself for what was to come.


End file.
